Everything I do
by Gerik's Angel
Summary: Christine disappears. She 's simply gone one day. Raoul suspects Erik of taking her, yet it's Erik who wants nothing to do with Christine, now that she has shattered his soul and left him. Madame Giry tries to get to the bottom of this all and find Christ
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Leroux and ALW own the POTO theme and the characters. I own the idea, plot and story. So do us all a favor and dont take anything without permission:)**

Summary: Christine disappears. She 's simply gone one day. Raoul suspects Erik of taking her, yet it's Erik who wants nothing to do with Christine, now that she has shattered his soul and left him. Madame Giry tries to get to the bottom of this all and find Christine, who has run away to New York for reasons that are unknown to all but her. Erik leaves his lair, determined to make something of himself. He travels to different countries, finding different work that fits his vast professions, until he lands himself in New York as a composure, at the same opera house that Christine has been working in. Erik treats her like he never knew her, Christine pretends that it dont bother her and treats him with the same coldness, yet both know in their hearts why they're both there. Will they be able to come to terms with their love before sense gets knocked back in to Christine and she returns to France to assume her life as a Vicomtess, or will their love bloom...with one very big problem between them that threatens all they worked for?

A/N: You'd think that after writing for five years that I'd be able to come up with much better summaries than that. Dont worry, give the story a shot, it wont disappoint!

**Intro:**

"Do you have any idea where she could be? Think, boy!" Madame Giry said sternly.

"If I did, don't you think I'd be there with her? The fact that I reported her missing means I have no idea!"Raoul said, stressed beyond belief, running a hand through his hair.

"But did she say anything? Did she act at all unusual when she was with you?"

"No. Christine hasnt quite been herself since...well, since the Opera Fire. But she was fine with everything, this I do know! She told me multiple times!"

"The girl who protests too much."Madame muttered sadly under her breath.

"Why do you go ask that _monster_ if he has seen her?" Raoul suddenly raged.

"What have you been thinking, Vicomte? Erik is on my list to see next, but I already know he doesnt _have_ her. He didnt take her, I promise you that."

"How do you know if you havent visited him yet?" Raoul asked angrily.

"Because he simply...gave up. Christine hurt him terribly when she left, and he let her go - for good, Vicomte. He doesnt have her. Now whether Christine went to him...I doubt. But that's what I'm going to find out. Now, do you have anything else to add?"

Raoul shook his head, his jaw set. He had dark circles under his eyes, clear evidence that he had been sleep deprived for quite a while. And anger, suspicion and hurt in his heart that proved that he wanted Christine with him, for he did love her so. Madame nodded her head, then left his house.

"Well?" Meg asked anxiously once Madame reached the carriage.

"Erik." Was all the Madame would offer.

Leave reviews and chapters are soon to follow!


	2. Chapter 2

**One, thanks for the quick replies! **

**Two...I messed up! THIS is chapter 2! Sorryfor the inconvience!**

"But are you _sure_, Erik, or do you just say this?" Madame probed Christine's former love interest.

"You think I would hide something like this? You think I would protect her? Perhaps you havent been caught up on the times." Erik said with annoyance.

"She never goes anywhere with out telling _someone_."

"And what? You assume that since de Changy cant keep ahold of his own fiancé that she must have run away and of course she told her _Angel_, yes?"

"Well, I was hoping." Madame admitted. "Erik...usually you know where everyone is! You're the Opera Ghost - you keep track of every ballet rat in the entire place. Right now you most likely know where Meg is!"

"In the ballet dormatory of the right corner, worrying about you. It's what she always does when you come here. She's afraid you'll get taken by the monster, yes?" Erik shrugged. "It what every ballet rat does - shiver in fear of me. Even a certain singer does so at the very thought of having to see me just once again."

"I doubt that, Erik. If I thought that was the truth, I wouldnt have come to you. The Vicomte wont admit it, but I know the two were having problems, and I'm willing to bet my life upon it that it had something to do with you."

"You think she ran away because of me?" Erik said as if it was the most stupid thing he had ever heard. "You're looking in the wrong places."

"Really? You seem to know everything I'm doing wrong. Perhaps you could start leading me in the _right _direction. Where would you look?"

He shook his head. "Nowhere. She wants to be a child and run away from her problems...let her."

"But maybe she didnt run away. Maybe someone took her, or she's lost, or in danger..."

"We would know." Erik simply said.

"How would we know."

"Excuse me, _I_ would know. Obviously I'm the only one who really understands the girl. Leave her be and she'll come home when she calms down and thinks she can handle her situation."

"But how could you be sure?"

He grinned with irony. "I'm her _Angel_, remember? Obviously I know what's in her heart...and...what's not." He added with a bitter tone, turning from Madame Giry and sitting at his organ bench.


	3. Chapter 3

**I have GOT to stop rushing when I'm uploading! Anyway, the last chapter has been resubmitted for those who have already read it. Go and read it again, for it's completely different. It got Erik in it this time... 3 And in that last chapter, when I said THIS is chapter 2, I meant 1, cause this is chapter 2! (the fact that the first entry was only an intro threw me off. :)**

Christine walked back and forth. Thankfully, everyone had returned to their own rented rooms by now and she was able to be alone. She looked over the railing and saw the ocean below. Yes, she was on a ship. A large ship. Sailing far, far away. But she had to wonder how the ship wasnt sinking when she had such an incredibly heavy heart. She couldnt get her beloved ones off of her mind. She even stopped trying. Christine had fled France, and had the mind not to return for a long time.

She saw a couple a few yards away. The woman looked young but regal, with a fancy dress with a lace neck and hair in a bun with tresles romantically falling from it. Her arm was around a tall man's arm. He had neatly trimmed black hair and a nice evening suit. From behind, he reminded her all too much of a certain Phantom she once knew. Shaking her head, she looked back into the dark water. She had been one here for a little over a week, and had a few more to come. It was now that she finally got her sea legs and stopped losing her last meal every time the ship hit a wave.

She couldn't wait to be on shore, to be an ocean away from all her problems. She just prayed that none would be able to follow her...

"I have to find her! How can she be missing for so long? I have some of the best officers in all of Paris searching all of France and part of England!" Raoul stressed, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his red rimmed eyes. "If only I could be sure..."

Madame Giry just watched the pacing Vicomte, observing him in interest.

"He didn't do it, Monsiuer, I promise you that."

"He? He? You refer to that horrid monster? How could you promise! You know nothing of what goes on in that head of his!" Raoul walked over to her hastily, getting close to her face. "Did you know he planned out Don Juan for months? What would happen, what he'd do? He's intellegent, I'll give him that. He found out about the trap, only to use it to his advantage. You didn't know he's show up in his opera. You didn't know he's turn viscious after Christine ripped off his mask - after proposing to her! You didn't know he'd take her and drag her down to his lair! You didn't know he'd threaten my life to make her marry him! All you knew was to keep my hand at the level of my eyes!" He yelled, yet nothing effecting his elder.

"And you didn't even listen. Had you, you'd have been able to avoid some of the damage inflicted upon you memory of that night."

"Do not tell me what I should have done! I know I was foolish...believing that he could be a bit of a human for once when he saw how worried I was for Christine! I trusted him in that moment and yes, I did pay dearly for it. But that reflects upon his bad image more than mine! And I don't care about that night...I care about now. Where my fiancé is! Where she has gone!"

Raoul started pacing again, going on another rapage about how monsterous the Phantom was, as Madame Giry quietly slipped away.

Dont worry - the chapters do get longer, the story does get much better! It just got to get rollin'!


	4. Chapter 4

**thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming!**

Christine had anxiously awaited the day her feet would step upon the soil of this new continent. Yet when she did, she had the feeling that she wanted to run back on the ship and beg for France. But when she thought about the waves, the sickness, she quickly abandoned that idea. She was here now, that was all there was to it.

New York. Such a large place with so many people! The city of Manhatten that she was in now seemed like it was bigger than all of France! She walked timidly, trying to find her bearings. A post office was nearby, so she quickly shuffled in to there.

"May I help you, Ma'am?" The man behind the counter asked.

"Ye...yes. I'm looking for...a hotel to stay in?"

He kindly wrote down a list of addresses where she'd be able to find a good night's rest. Thanking him gratefully, she quickly went in search, her suitcases heavy in her hands.

When she found a nice place, she dropped her bags on the floor and collapsed on to the bed, thoroughly exhausted both physically and mentally. But her dreams gave her little comfort - they were all focused on a world away, where Vicomte's searched for their fiance's and friends worried to death about her safe keeping.

"She's no where! Absolutely no where." Madame Giry announced, after finding her way in to the lair again.

Erik made a grunt, though he didn't let her disrupt what he was already doing. Whatever he was doing...

"Erik? Erik, are you...going somewhere?" She asked, suddenly hopeful when she saw the bags. He was going after Christine!

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Then you should know that London, Perros and all of Paris has been covered the last I heard."

"Covered? What do you speak of, Giry?"

"The search for Christine, of course! Those places are already covered, so you should start-"

"I'm not going to find Christine!" Erik exclaimed.

"You're...not?"

"No. I'm leaving on my own. To go try and make something out of this worthless life while I can. I told you before - if the girl wants to run away like a child, let her. She's come back when she's ready."

"How do you know?" Madame Giry implored.

He side glanced at her, his jaw set. "She'll come back when she's ready." He only said stubbornly in a low voice. "But what she does is no longer any of my affairs." He picked up his suitcase. "I take my leave."

"Where are you going? In case I'd have to find you?"

"You wont be finding. I'm planning on going everywhere, but no where to these cruel men. You wont be finding me."

"But what if we find Christine? Or what if she's injured?"

Erik turned to the elderly woman. "I don't care, Madame. I have nothing for her. To me, she is now just another runaway soprano that has turned in to a brat, thanks to both that Vicomte's hands and my own. He gave her everything in the world, I gave her everything under it. I even gave her front stage and her greatest gift. But he has spoiled her heart. I have too. So now I wash my hands from it all. Now, I take my leave." And with that, he took a bag of things and put them in her hand. "These are the few valuables from down here. You may sell them, for you deserve the money after your years of service to me."

"It wasn't service, Erik - it was caring and love."

He ignored this, and picked up his suitcase, grabbing his hat and putting it on to shade his face, then started up one of the tunnels.

Madame Giry waited, hoping that somehow he'd change his mind and stay. But he didn't return, and so Madame Giry stood in a now Phantomless lair that was void and empty. With both the woman she thought a daughter and the man she thought a son both gone at the same time, her heart had never been so heavy.


	5. Chapter 5

**LovetheScottishAngel: Hello! It's great to see another PFNer here! I'm phanphicwriter14 over there. **

**ErikMySweet: thanks for making time to read this, despite being busy with your own story!**

**Chicky: great to see you here too, Mer Bear!**

**Everyone: Sorry this too so long - I have been very busy writing other phics, along with mylaptop going on a bitof a field trip with my dad yesterday when I was originally going topost. I promise that this story will pick up soon, andthe chapters get much longer:)**

"When will I know, Monseiur?" Christine asked, her fingers crossed behind her back.

"As soon as possible. Just put down the address of your home and we'll send a letter out if you are chosen."

They wanted to check more girls, just in case.

Christine looked up at the New York Opera House's ceiling and sighed. She was running out of money for her hotel room, and badly needed a job to survive.

'_Please let me get this job!' _She murmered up to the Heavens as she took off her ballet slippers once away from the managers. Ballet...it was what she was now reduced to. To be in the corps de ballet. No great honor. No great respect. No soprano lighting the stage. But she would deal with it if it meant she could stay in this new place. Away from her misery and hurts.

"Ma'am?" A handsome young man behind a desk asked when she went to leave.

"Yes, monsieur?"

"Your name and address, my lady. You need to write it down for the managers to contact you for the job."

"If I get it." She said sadly, walking over to him.

"Oh, you'll get it. I'm not supposed to, but I left my spot to watch you perform. You were lovely. And very experienced for such a young woman."

She blushed at his comments. "I've been practicing since I was seven."

"You're accent is beautiful. Where are you from?"

"Sweden originally. I moved to France when I was quite young."

"That explains how it seems mixed. Oh, here Miss - you forgot to put down your name." He pointed out quickly. She blushed again from her own stupidity.

"Forgive me." She whispered. But just as she was about to write her name, she stopped. Her name had gone famous after the fire and the public announcement of her engagement to the handsome Vicomte. She couldn't be herself here. They'd be afraid that her Opera Ghost was following her and would never hire her. She needed money...

'_Aminta Giry' _She quickly wrote before swiftly turning and walking out, cursing herself. Why? Why did she write Aminta? Now her Ghost really would haunt her while she was here.

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"He's gone? Really gone, Maman? Oh, how wonderful! Perhaps we could make it public somehow..." Meg gushed as she paced her mother's room eagerly.

"Public?" Madame Giry exclaimed. "Why ever would you suggest such a thing?"

"Because then Christine will see that he is at last gone and she can come back!"

"Why do you think that she has left because of him? Did she say anything to you?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, but isn't it obvious? She used to mention all the time that she felt he was still with her. That she still dreamt about him. That he haunted all her footsteps. He has been with her even still! But at last he has gone and she can rest easily now."

Madame Giry looked surprise at her daughter, lost now in her own thoughts. How could she not have known before?

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	6. Chapter 6

**Maidenhair: You said that the phic could get taken off if I reply to reviews. I'm new here, and I know from many authors complaints that there are many strange rules here, but why is this one of them?**

**Next chapter:**

Christine bit her lip in anticipation. She had just received her letter that she had gotten the job as a dancer in the Opera House. She had already taken a dormatory room in it, and now was all set for working. It would feel good to stretch out her legs again to grace across the stage. Though, she couldn't help think, while her voice talents rotted away from silence. That talent that she almost wanted to rot away. At least then she wouldn't have to torture herself with what ifs.

"Row four." The ballet mistress called out. That was her row. She fluttered out in pearl steps with the other eight girls in her row. She kicked out her foot high as she twirled around, then kept going. She found herself near struggling to keep up. After all, she hadn't been a student of strict Madame Giry for well over a year. Just as she was pinching her eyes closed to picture her old teacher's face, she lost balance. She desperately grasped for her dignity, but lost it when she grabbed another girl's skirt, sending her and two others down on the floor. And suddenly, her new ballet mistress was glaring hard at her.

"Miss? What is your name?" She asked sternly.

"Christi...I mean, Aminta. Aminta Giry, Madame."

"Are you alright?"

"I...I think so, Madame."

"Then get yourself up and move to row five. You'll have to try this again. If you mess this up once more, you'll have to be trained harder." And then to herself, she added, "Really...those managers will hire just anyone now. And imports? Really!"

Christine sucked in her hurt and scrambled herself to her feet. If only they knew...if only she could reveal to them just who she really was...they'd all be at _her_ feet.

Crossing her arms tight to her chest, she walked over to the side stage, her ankle burning but forced to ignore it.

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Christine sat at the windowseat, her cheek laying against her knees that were tucked tight against her chest. Her ankle still hurt, but after such a brutle day, it was the least of her problems. She had bruises all up and down her legs, her toenails kept oozing blood, which stained her shoes. Her hair was in matted knots that she didnt have enough strength to comb out.

There was no longer any Meg to insist she could do it, or a Madame Giry to give her tutoring after ballet hours. She was on her own, struggling to keep up against all these other girls.

Hot tears stung at her eyes that refused to fall. She wouldn't cry. Crying was not the answer. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't bring in any money or bring her the comfort of home. It wouldn't take away all her problems and sew everything back together. It would solve nothing.

Therefore she laid down on her bed stiffly and closed her eyes tight, falling asleep to her mind imagining she was back in her old dormantory room, imagining where everyone would be sleeping and all the things that would surround her in the room.

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Christine suffered through another day of glares and fallings, until she was alone. She had fallen asleep at the side stage hours ago when her row was finished, and no one had woken her up. The stage was dark, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She didnt like the dark. Things of all different sorts lingered in the dark, this she now knew well. Her arms against her tight for lack of security, she started walking through the hallways with trembling, weak legs. What a mess she had gotten herself in to! This whole ordeal...what a mistake! She had made so many in the last year. Feeling a wave of fear coming on, she started to sing to chase it away.

_Think of me...think of me fondly, when we say goodbye! _

_Remember me, once in a while_

_please promise me you'll try!_

"Is someone there?" She heard a man's voice call out. She gasped and quickly ran to the side of the dark hall against the wall.

"Excuse me, who's there? Who was singing?" A man's voice asked again, but this time he opened the door he was in, and light from the room flooded on both of them. It was one of her managers.

"I sir. I was singing. I seemed to...have lost my way to the dormatories. Please don't be mad at me, I don't mean to be out so late. I know it's against the rules to be around here, but-"

"My child, what do you speak of? I interrupted you because your voice is beautiful. Why have you kept it a secret?"

She blushed and cursed herself at the same time. She didnt want to have to sing here! "I'm really not that good, Monsieur. Quite poor at the moment. I haven't sung in quite the while."

"But why ever not? And you get better? Really, why didnt you try to be one of the chorus girls at least?"

"I do not wish to sing."

"But you wish to abuse your body so? Ballet does not seem to be your field, Madamoiselle, if I may be so bold."

They both looked down at her legs. The bruises shown though the thin tights. Her cheeks flared.

"I suppose I have spoiled my body for to long. I cant seem to get in to the groove of it yet. I fear I would be a great disappointment to my former ballet mistress now."

"Perhaps she wont have to find out. We have a diva and an understudy for her already. But if you'd settle for being an understudy for the two and be in the chorus-"

"Monsieur, please-"

"It pays more, Madamoiselle. You're more valuable as a singer than a lowly dancer."

She could really use more money. She needed more clothing, and much more food than she was currently intaking. But her Angel! How could she sing a single note for anyone without her angel there? Without thinking about all she had done for him? If Raoul ever found out she was here singing, he would drastically get the wrong idea. He'd be disappointed in her. But the good Vicomte was far away, and more than likely that he was already more than just disappointed in her with her latest actions. And beside Raoul, her stomach was growling, as if it's fleshy walls were starting to crumble. She was growing thin, and they'd need to keep a girl in that job position looking good, just in case. They'd have to take care of her.

"Alright. I'll take it." She agreed, sticking out her hand to meet his own.

"Then it's yours." he promised with smile, then turned back to his office, shutting the door and once again leaving her in the dark, wondering about her decision. If she could even do what she just agreed to.

"Angel..." She whispered sorrowfully, then started to hurry to her room.

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	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Seeing that there is now a rule against replying to everyone on the story itself, I'll have to stop that. But I'd like to answer one question:**

**Aminta is not a creation of my own. It was the name Erik gave his main lead in his opera Don Juan Triuphant. It's significant then, you see, since the play him trying to seduce in in to loving him. **

Five long months passed. Christine was in the chorus with many other girls of all ages, but she found herself shying away from really singing. Many times, she'd just pretend, learning the words only to lip sync them with the others. She was convincing. In a chorus of fifty two people, it was hard for the teacher to only focus on her, so she was easily brushed over. And never were both divas out at once, so she never had to worry about center stage.

But right now, Christine had just finished a terribly long day of rehersals. She was on her way back to her room when something caught her eye. A trash can was right outside the manager's office door, a newspaper laying on top. And on that paper? The likeness of Raoul!

Giving a sharp cry at his pained expression, she fell to her knees to grab the paper and read it's contents of her beloved fiancé.

**From Paris, France**

**_The Viscount Raoul de Changy, patron of the Opera Populaire, finds himself in great distress of the late. De Changy graced our papers seven months ago after the Opera House's fire, caused by the infamous Opera Phantom, or Ghost. He was nearly killed that night, trying to save his fiancé, slead soprano diva Miss Christine Daae. Both safely came back the same night, the mysterious Phantom disappearing ever since. _**

_**But now, it's the former singer whom causes this distress upon the Viscount. For five months she has completely disappeared, leaving not a single trace, despite how hard the officers have searched nationwide. **_

_**If anyone has any information about this missing person, please contact the address below. A weathly reward will be apprized. **_

Christine felt hot tears course heavily down her cheeks as she stared at the white and black blur in her hands. He still searched for her. He still hadn't given up. He still loved her, though she was nothing more than a spoiled brat. Anger welled up in side of her at her own self. Hatred at the wretched girl she had become. What would her father think of his princess now if he could see her?

"Miss Giry?" She heard behind her. She gasped, quickly wiping away her tears with vigor.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur Smith! But are...are you finished with this news paper?" She asked, begging him to say yes with her eyes.

"I suppose that's why it's in the trash, is it not? Why?"

"May I have it, Monsieur? "

"Ah, are you taken with that handsome young fellow? He's quite the looker, is he not? I hear many girls around here speak of him."

"You do?" She asked in shock.

"He's quite the story in France, and now it's here. Have you not kept up with the news?"

"Regretfully, I have not." She said, almost wanting to slip in the fact that she couldnt was because she couldn't afford a paper and that was why she was on her knees before a trash can, but kept silent.

"Take the paper. Just don't fantasize too much. Everyone thinks that because he fell in love with that soprano, that girls here have a chance. Obviously falling in love with a woman of that girl's stature was a grave mistake! She probably ran off with some secret lover she had, or is with child from one of them. It's what happens to many. No offense, of course." He said, for he had quite forgotten who he was talking to.

She tried to calm herself. He had no idea how offensive that was!

"How do you know she wasn't taken and is dead now, or something horrid of that nature?" She spit out.

He shrugged. "I suppose it's possible. Perhaps that's why the Vicomte is so avid on finding her - most likely it's his greatest fear. What I cant understand is why she'd run. She would have been marrying in to status and fortune - something she couldn't have with anyone else."

Christine opened her mouth, but he stopped her. "Please, Miss Giry! Next you will try to tell me that perhaps she was in love with that monster and ran with him! You are like all the others." He shook his head.

"How could she? Is he not still in his lair?"

"No. It has been searched a second time. Most of his belongings are missing, and he has vanished. Right around the same time as that Daae girl did as well. But it means nothing."

"Or it could mean everything." She whispered. Erik left? He had gone? She grabbed the paper and started to run to her room as fast as she could.

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She fell upon her bed and opened the paper again, reading quickly. She skimmed through where they talked about Raoul again, then saw an interview with Madame Giry.

**Madame A. Giry, Ballet Mistress**

_**I don't have the slightest idea where our **_

_**Christine could be, but I do know that**_

_**she is safe. Many people, my own**_

_**daughter whom was Christine's best**_

_**friend, fears that she is dead. I believe**_

_**it not, for I was told that she would**_

_**return just fine by someone who knew**_

_**Christine better than anyone else in this**_

_**world. Told me that she'd come back**_

_**when she was ready. I eagerly await**_

_**that day, and have complete trust that**_

**_she will._**

And then she went on to talk about 'the Opera Ghost'.

**_You will not find him. He has fled. _**

_**Please remember that the man you speak**_

_**of is indeed just that - a man. He is no**_

_**ghost, no monster, no phantom. He is a **_

_**man who now wants to finally start living**_

_**the life he has been given anew. **_

No, he was no monster or phantom. He was no ghost. But he wasn't an angel either anymore. He was a man. A man that she had brought out of him with a simple kiss. And now, he had gone too, for reasons she could only guess. She knew that she was in New York after these five months that she had been gone. But where, in this great world, was he now? Where did he run to when she had killed his innocent angel with her actions? Where did he go when she left him for his enemy?

She flew to her pillow, sobs racking her slight body, the paper falling to the floor in her sorrow.

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	8. Chapter 8

**The Start of it All :)**

The next day Christine was making her way down the hallway with a message for the managers when she heard Mr. Smith talking.

"I regret to inform you that you can not meet our diva and her understudy, but the two are gone today, getting fitted for new outfits. With the money we've been receiving lately, we can spare more in that area now. Since they are the ones you are working with, I desperately hoped for them to be here now. Though," he said, glancing at his watch, "they should be back at any moment."

Just then Christine knocked. "Monsieur Smith, I have been asked to tell you that our diva and her understudy will not be coming back until tomorrow. They are weary from their fittings." Christine said, rolling her eyes at the slightly opened door.

He came out, his face in dismay. "What do you mean they wont be here? They are supposed to be here to meet our new composure and maestro!"

"We have a composure now, Monsieur?"

"Indeed. Well, you are our second understudy, so you'll have to do." He turned to the man he was previously talking to. "Sir, I'd like to introduce you to our second understudy. You'll work with her just rarely, but she is all I have available at the moment." He announced, then grabbed Christine's arm roughly out of frustration and hurried her in. She stumbled over her feet, bowing her head to quickly fix her windblown hair.

"Sir, this is our second understudy, Miss Aminta Giry. Giry, meet Sir Erik Destler."

"Erik wha...?" Christine whispered to herself in her tired daze. She knew that name...she knew that name! Her head flew up, her jaw slacked and her brown eyes doe wide. She stood shock still. Had there been a fire at that moment, she would have had to stay in it, for she could not move a muscle if she tried.

"Aminta Giry!" Mr. Smith's voice rang out in her ear angrily. "Do not gape at our new employer like that because of his mask! How dare you!"

Her breath was taken away. "Oh, it's not because of..." Her voice trailed off. If not because of that, then what? She didn't know him in Mr. Smith's eyes. And the way Erik was looking at her, his mask made up more of surprise than of porcliene, perhaps he didn't know he either. "Forgive me." She ended up whispering.

"Do not apologize to me! Tell Mr. Destler such."

Oh, she didn't want to! She didnt want to have to face him! A glowing anger had started deep within his eyes, and she knew he was thinking about the last time he had seen her. She breathed deeply before turning to him and walking up to the desk that he lounged behind. She stuck out her hand.

"Forgive me, Monsieur. I have been very tired of late and know not what I am doing, if you would accept such an excuse."

"Whatever would you be so tried from?" Mr. Smith asked, trying to make her look bad.

"I...I have taken up the corps de ballet again, Monsieur."

"Is being an understudy not enough glory for you now?"

"It is not that, I assure you. But I...I...need the money." She said softly, knowing he would not like the truth.

"You send out your divas to get clothing because of your better income, yet you let your workers starve?" The man in the mask said in shock.

"No, Sir, I assure you that they are paid very handsomely." He said, glaring at Christine to even dare her to call him a liar, though he was. "She just has very expensive tastes."

Even through his anger though, Erik looked in concern at her dark colored legs under her ballet skirt that stopped right below the knee. "Do you abuse your dancers as well?"

Mr. Smith looked down at her legs and got furious. "Just because she is a clumsy wench does not mean we abuse our dancers. She is new to this. If she can not handle the speed of our profession, then perhaps she should seek work elsewhere." He said, determined to look good in front of his respectable new employee.

Christine looked hurt, so she simply looked away, not liking how Erik was inspecting her, as if to see if she was good enough to be in his presence. When did the conditions change so drastically? How did he get so worthy? For the hundred time, she cursed herself for not finding a way to keep up with the news. But then again, you couldn't eat paper.

"Excuse me, madamoiselle, I didn't quite catch your first name. What was it?" Erik asked, moving on.

Oh, why must he torture her so? With cheeks blushing fiercely, she mumbled, "A..a..Aminta, Monsieur."

"Really? A very interesting name. Where did your parents get it?"

"I am an orphan. I do not know."

"It's an intriguing name. A good one for a main character of an opera, do you not think?"

"I always thought it was a pretty name." She hinted.

"And you're a Giry from France? I know many Girys. Are you related to Antoinette Giry?" He asked. He was trying to see where she stood. Never had she had to prove herself before!

"I am. A cousin."

"To her daughter Meg?" But just before she could nod, he quickly said, "For Antoinette has no siblings. Neither does Jules."

"Second cousin, I believe. As I said before, I am an orphan and know only little about such pasts."

"I see. Well I have nothing else to say to you. Go on and finish your work." he dismissed abruptly.

And that hurt too. With her head bowed, she left, hurrying from Mr. Smith's side. Her face was very red when she got to ballet practice and asked the mistress if she could have off for the day. She felt like she was going to faint, and it must have been obvious, for the strict teacher allowed her to leave right away.

She ran to her room and threw herself on to her bed, sobbing heavily at all she had just witnessed.

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**Now please review - after that chapter, you know you want to:D**


	9. Chapter 9

The next day she got up early with her partner George to learn the dance moves that she had skipped the day before. After that, they went to their lessons, and then...then was what she had been dreading all day - singing rehearsals. She feared that Erik would be there, and when she arrived there, she saw that she had been right. He was there, in the conductor's pit with music sheets surrounding him as he sat looking up at the stage.

The Diva, La Ruby Para was called up front, following her understudy Rose Smith, the cousin of the manager, as Christine had just found out earlier that day from George. To her surprise, they wanted Christine to come forth too.

"You'll all sing for Mr. Destler so he can see how to work with you and how to write his music."

Christine's eyebrow perked up. How to write his music? Erik never let _anyone_ tell him how to write his music, especially not these untalented women!

Standing up there with them, Christine felt so young. Ruby Para was in her late thirties, maybe older. Rose was in her late twenties. And there Christine was, barely turning the tender age of seventeen! They had more experience than she, but it was her teacher that sat in front of them to judge. She ran through everything he had ever taught her and asked from her. She could do this easily. He'd allow her to outshine them all. That's why he was doing this after all, wasn't it? Of course it was!

Ruby smiled confidently, knowing there was no way he could cast her out. Putting her hands together at her chest, she opened her mouth wide and started to sing, loud and hard. When she finally stopped, Christine noticed that Erik's body had gone rigid, his jaw set, his eyes reduced to slits. That only meant trouble, or at least that had been to her experience.

"What was that?" he yelled. "This is your divine diva? Dogs howl at what you just called singing! Horrid! Is this how all of America is with their Opera Houses, or is this the only one so wretched?"

"But...but Monsieur...this is one of the most prized Houses in all of the nation!"

"This isn't a very good nation then, is it?" Erik shouted, then sat back down and waved his hand as if to clear the air. "Understudy, sing."

Rose was now clearly disturbed, for Ruby was her better. If Ruby was called horrid...what would she be called? But she sang out anyway, Christine watching Erik closely. Clearly something had managed to get him in a terrible mood, and she feared she knew what that was.

Erik just shook his head sadly when Rose stopped. "Horrid. Absolutely horrid." He said in his sorrow. "This is what Americans call music? I have never felt prouder to be French. You need to replace your divas, Monsieur Smith."

Mr. Smith stayed quiet as Erik gazed back up at the stage. At her. His once Angel. Christine, right before his eyes.

"And this is who you leave me with?" He finally said, swallowing his emotions. "A lowly chorus girl, and when she's not that she's a ballet rat or a messenger girl? This is who you leave me to listen to? Pathetic!" He spat.

Christine's heart fell. Oh, how many times would he hurt her in such a short amount of time?

She closed her eyes, willing her tears to stay. A ballet rat? Lowly chorus girl?

"Sing." Her angel demanded, not in his beautiful soothing voice, but his harsh, fearful, demanding one. A voice he saved for managers when they disobeyed him or Raoul when he tried to take his beloved away. But to use it towards his angel? How could she sing to that?

Her eyes were watering more than she was able to control.

"Are you deaf, girl? Sing!" He urged, getting angry, as if he wasn't already.

She opened her sad eyes, staring at him as a single one fell down her smooth cheek. Her mouth couldn't open, let alone sing her heart out for this man.

"Get her off stage! She is useless to me. I will have to work with the other two for quite a while to try and get their voices in shape. Continue through with tomorrow's show, then cancel the rest until I have them perfectly trained."

Christine closed her eyes, not being able to breath. He was going to tutor other women? But she was his student! His one and only!

'_Not anymore.' _She thought, her mind stating the all too obvious. George hurried out and wrapped his arm around her, then walked her off stage, where she collapsed to the ground unceremoniously and sobbed in to her hands. Her angel was indeed dead.

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A/N : Just remember - everything happens for a REASON.


	10. Chapter 10

Christine felt vastly uncomfortable. She felt hardly dressed. A thick piece of material went across her chest, but the rest of her top was see through. Her skirt was that of a ballet dancer's - thin and flowing. She was used to this after being in so many productions of Hannibal. But never in any of those productions had Erik sat in the front row, staring at her. She was at the front of the stage. George stood right behind her.

"You alright?" He whispered in her ear.

"I suppose I must be." She said under her breath. He nodded, then took her hands and raised their arms. Since he was so tall, she had to stretch every muscle in her body to reach her fingertips to his palms.

The music started. It was still the old conductor, doing his last opera here. She kicked up her leg then spun in his arms. He put his arms around her middle and she arched her back to face the crowd upside down, then stood straight back up, putting her hands on George's shoulders and jumped, half her body going over his head as he held her up and quickly spun her. She landed on one foot, and kept going until the music changed. Then she, along with the rest of the dancers, quickly danced off to their side of the stage, Ruby fluttering on center stage to sing.

By the end of the show, Christine was sweaty and exhausted, ready to collapse. George wrapped his arm around her and helped her to the changing room door. "You alright, Aminta?" He asked with worried eyes. Erik's gaze had taken everything out of her. 

"I...I got to get to my room. I'll see you tomorrow..."

"But you'll miss the gala that's being held in honor of Mr. Destler's changes to here. He's supposed to be our miracle to save us or something because of all the things he did for those other opera houses in like a dozen different countries. Either way, it's free food and music for us."

But she shook her head. "There will be another for when he started producing his first opera. I can afford to miss this one."

And with that, she hobbled back to her room and climbed in to the solace of her bed.

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The next day dawned sadly. Christine wondered who Erik danced with. The words that George had told her the night before floated across her mind. So now her angel was famous. He had gotten over his fear of rejection and hatred for mankind and made something of himself...and had forgotten her.

Well, if he could forget her, then she certainly could forget him! It was part of the reason she was here, was it not? To forget about him and then go back and marry Raoul? So why, oh why did she feel so hurt to know that Erik no longer cared for her? Why did it shatter her heart like fragile glass to see that he despised her? She looked in to her mirror as she brushed out her curls.

"_Angel of Music hide no longer. Come to me strange angel!"_ She sang softly. But this time, there was no masked wonder to reach out his hand and lead her to her fantasies. Only her own deep pools of tears stared back at her.

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"Where were you last night?" Marie, a fellow ballet dancer that reminded Christine so much of Meg asked.

"I wasn't feeling good. But do tell me about it! How did it go for you?"

"Wonderful! I finally got to dance with George!" She squealed. Marie had been dreamy eyed over Marie for ever.

"Good! See, I told you he's noticing you." Christine encouraged, trying to keep herself smiling.

"Yeah..." Marie said with a blush. "Anyway, Mr. Destler was looking for you."

Christine stopped walking to look at her friend in surprise. "He was? How do you know?"

"He asked everyone where you went! The managers and all. He even spoke to us little people. While I was dancing with George he came to us, knowing that George was your partner. Asked where you had gotten to, and George replied that you weren't feeling well and had gone back to your dormatory room. His face at first seemed to lift, but then fall again, as if remembering something. He looked like he was struggling, and then simply walked away. He didnt talk at all the rest of the night. Didn't dance with a single girl either, though they all wanted him to."

Christine tried to snap out of it, but it was so hard! Erik had asked for her! Maybe he wanted to talk to her by herself and apologize. Maybe he wanted to tell her he still loved her, his hard walls crumbled after her beautiful performance the night before. Or maybe...maybe he wanted to be mean to her. Say that her performance was suffering. That she wasn't her best, or that she wasn't a good dancer. Knowing him, he wouldn't hesitate to say so if he was in the right mood. That broke her spell. Her spirit was no longer flying, though hope was. She continued down with Marie until the office door swung open, Mr. Smith hanging out of it.

"Miss Giry, may I have a word with you?"

Oh, this was it! She had sucessfully avoided Mr. Smith ever since that incident while meeting Erik. Would he yell at her now?

She bowed her head and walked over to him, her hands folded behind her back.

"Mr. Destler has been looking for you. He wishes to see you at the earliest moment you are available."

She looked up at him in surprise, then quickly masked it. "I don't know where he is, Monsieur."

"The door on the left of the orchestra pit. Do not disappoint him, Giry. He is a powerful man. You will regret it. And make sure you knock - he has quite the wrath when you interrupt him." Mr. Smith informed from previous experience.\

She nodded, excusing herself then running along with Marie.

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	11. Chapter 11

For once, Christine was overjoyed at her very busy schedule. She was in dance lessons through the morning. She and the rest of the dancers ate the leftovers from the gala over lunch, then she headed to chorus practice. After that, she and George met up to practice what they had learned. And he complimented her, saying that she was the greatest partner he had ever had, which made her work that much harder. And then, tired and wanting bed, she dragged herself to the orchastra pit and to the door on the left of it.

She knocked lightly, then opened the door. Erik was at the organ, playing like he used to in his lair. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining she was in her swan bed and being slowly awaken by the sweet music.

"You wanted me, Erik?" She asked then, opening her eyes. But he didnt stop playing. Instead, he just kept at it, faster and harder.

"Erik?" She said, unsure of why he was doing such.

He played louder, his fingers slamming down on the keys. She walked to him, slipping a hand to his shoulder. His hands went limp, falling in to his lap almost immediately at her touch. "Erik..."

"Thank you for coming, Madamoiselle Giry. I've been needing to speak with you."

"Please don't call me that when we're not in public."

"Why should I not? It's your name, isn't it?" He asked curtly. Her heart fell. This wasn't a meeting to discuss how overjoyed he was to see her.

"Call me Christine, please? I haven't heard a soul call me that for near six months."

"You're name isn't Christine though. Why should I call you it? Your name is Aminta Giry, a fine enough name."

"Erik!" She exclaimed, frustrated. Why was he being so difficult? "Why did you wish to see me?"

"The divas here are anything but. They are worse than Carlotta on her bad days. I have been in a few countries here and there. I take a job at an opera that is failing, then raise it from the ashes and make it the finest in their country. It's what I do. This place was to be a challange to me - it's already good, but I was to make it better. As it turns out, singers here have no talent. But that will not beat me. No, I shall succeed yet. And that is why I called you."

She swallowed hard. "Please, Erik...no..."

"I have already trained you. You know everything, and you are a very good singer. Some one must have heard your voice. Yet how they kept those two cows above you I do not know..."

Her eyebrow raised. Cows? This is what he called women now?

"They did because Monsieur Smith heard me only once, and it was while I was weary and scared. And crying...but it worked how I wished it. I don't want to have a repeat of Paris. I want to be a simple chorus girl. Away from the pain..."

"Nonsense! I will have no such thing! I trained you for many years to be a diva, not a rat. You will sing as my lead soprano, and together we will make this the finest opera house in the world."

"I don't want it." Christine said stubbornly.

"But you will have it." He replied to her, an icy tone adding on top of his stern one.

"You cant make me sing, Erik!" She exclaimed.

He stood up so fast the bench fell to the ground with a harsh noise. "I can! I can make you do whatever I want! I am the great Erik Destler now! More influencal than some nobody at an opera house with a bad reputation for it's workers! You shall sing for me!"

"What would you do if I didn't?" She dared to ask in a whisper, truly afraid of his temper now.

"I will reveal you. Shame you. You will be forced back to France to face that foolish boy whom will no longer be your fiancé. You'll put everyone to shame. All but me. Your life will be ruined."

Her eyes went wide. Would he really do such a thing? The Erik she knew wouldnt, but she didn't know this one. This one was music hungry in a different way - he was going to make up for all the lost time with it. With her.

"Please Erik, don't do this to me. Don't make me do another horrid decision! I've disappointed you before-"

"Oh, don't worry. You wont be disappointing me again."

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The next day Christine woke late, which startled her. Always did someone knock on her door to wake her - it was how it was done! She's knock on the next person's door, and so forth. But it was late now...

She pulled on her leontard, tights and skirt, then picked up her pointe ballet shoes and knocked on the next door urgantly. But no one was there. They were already awake. She knocked on another's. Everyone else was awake! What had happened? She ran fast down the hallways, her loose hair flowing behind her. She stumbled in to the dance room, out of breath.

"Aminta? What are you doing here?" The ballet mistress asked.

"What am I doing? I'm here for the lesson! I'm sorry I was late, no one woke me for some reason and-"

"No one woke you because you weren't scheduled to come here."

Christine tilted her head to the side, confused. "What...do you mean?"

" I was told today that you were to no longer take ballet lessons. You are now to be only a singer."

Her eyes went wide. Erik! Erik had done this! She dropped her shoes and started running barefoot again to Erik's door. Not bothering to knock, she threw open the door and hurried in. "How could you! How could you do such a thing to me?" She yelled, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. What she didn't see before her outburst was not only was Erik there, sitting on his bench, but Mr. Smith standing not far off. He looked at Erik in surprise.

"Mademoiselle Giry, please wait outside. I'll deal with you in a moment." Erik said calmly. But she refused this, not caring about her manager. He had no say to her now - now that she'd be diva.

"You took me out of dance! That was how I was making my living!" She cried.

"I had your salary raised. You will now be getting the two soprano's paychecks as well, as was the deal I was trying to just seal off for you." He said in subdued annoyance.

"But I liked dancing." She whispered, bowing her head.

"And now you will learn to like being a diva again."

"Again?" Mr. Smith mumbled in his puzzlement.

"Leave us." Erik demanded to the man, pointing towards the door. When Mr. Smith left, Erik looked back to Christine.

"I wont be having these outbursts, you hear me? You are not another Carlotta! I have spoiled you before, but not now. You will do as I ask. This includes quitting ballet. You will have more than enough money to pull you through. And if you don't, I'll take care of that for you and get you more."

"But I've grown to really like it, Erik. I like to dance." She said, wiping a tear away from the corner of her mouth. "It finally stopped hurting."

"You like dancing or you like your partner?" He asked in a growling tone. But then they both looked in surprise, for Erik hadn't meant for that to slip.

"George? Why would I...Erik, I am still engaged to Raoul. If not in his heart still, it's in mine. Remember that." She said, turning to leave, but he caught her hand.

"I expect you to be the student you once were before. And I shall be the teacher I once was-"

"You could never be that! My teacher...my wonderful, beloved teacher...he was an angel. Now as you are before me, I see that you are quite the opposite. I await my angel's return before I could ever be the eager student I once was. I'd rather bruise and hurt myself over and over trying to learn ballet again before I be that for even a day."

And with that, she yanked her arm out of his grip and started running.

"Just remember - I control you now! The tables are quite turned, my Aminta! You are still mine!" He yelled after her. She put her hands over her ears and ran faster.


	12. Chapter 12

Christine stood angrily before Erik as he commanded her to sing this song and that, over and over. Their lesson seemed to never end, but both kept getting more and more frustrated with the other.

"Stop! Stop, please! Why do you not sing as I know you can? Where is that beautiful voice?" Erik asked, looking at her in annoyance.

She crossed her arms.

"I'm singing just fine!"

"For a dead cat! You must sing better! How you used to! You've only stopped your lessons a year ago - you can not have possibly forgotten everything I've taught you."

"You taught me nothing, Monsieur. My angel did." She said, turning her back to him.

"What have I done to you?" He yelled angrily. "Why are you so mad at me? I have only looked out for you! I raised your salary by a threefold! You have enough money to eat out at every meal, keep nice clothes on your back and decorate your room. I have you being my center diva that will surely cause you great fame if you would only let it. Pray, tell me Madamoiselle, what have I done so wrong to offend you that you'd throw all this away?"

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the wall. "Just that. None of this is for me! Don't think I'm so childish as to believe that. Besides, you said so yourself - you're in this to raise your fame. I am only your tool that you cope with until you go off to your next opera house to train some other singer."

He shrugged, then nodded. "Good girl, you've grown up a bit since you've been gone. You're right, it's true. I'm using you. But at the same damn time, you're using me. As you have for years. I never expected a single thing in return. But now I ask for it. Do you give it? No. You act like a child."

"You just said I was mature." She whispered, looking away.

"Again, why do you act as such? I don't deserve for you to be angry with me. If anything, I should be more than furious with you."

"What did I do to you?" She exclaimed. It was he who dragged her in this. It was he who kept ruining her life!

"You ran away! Do you know what you have done to everyone? Madame Giry is frantic, but nothing compared to whom you called your friend. Meg is beside herself with worry. And that boy of yours...he's not even in his right mind anymore! All because you wanted to run off to New York and have your fun."

"I wasn't having fun! Does this look like fun?" She shouted angrily, hot tears welling once again. "Fun is lounging in a mansion with servants at my feet and being called a Vicomtess! Fun is being respected for once in your life, Erik!"

"You think I don't know?" He asked softly. "But if you like it so much, why aren't you there now? Why aren't you doing all those things right at this moment instead of slaving in horrid, run down place?"

She looked away, not ready to reveal such a thing yet.

"If you wont even answer, you might as well continue on singing. Go on, sing more. And this time, do it right."

She inwardly groaned, stepping back and straightening up. She sang much better, but her heart wasn't in it, and her mind was far, far away.


	13. Chapter 13

"Beginning of the aria from Hannibal." Erik demanded next.

She tilted her head to the side, not understanding. So far, they had only practiced his own work that she had sung over the years. But Hannibal?

"Why so?" She asked, leaning against the wall as her body begged for a break.

Erik gritted her teeth at first, not wanting to have to explain. "Might as well tell you know. I don't believe my work will be finished in time for the next scheduled show, and I will not be rushed. Therefore we must prepare for Hannibal in case that is what we put on. But these American fools here have never put on Hannibal in this theater, so they are all frantic and running around blindly to get this ready. And you must get ready as well. You have played Elise once before - you shall play it again."

She was lost in thought for a moment, and then he requested the aria again. He wanted her to sing Think of Me. But how? How could she when so many emotions were attached to that song? Many times Raoul would passionately whisper in her ear how he fell so deeply in love with her when he first heard her sing that on stage, as if it was written for them. Erik had taken her to his lair the night of her performance, the song still stuck in her throat.

How? How could she sing it again?

"Erik, I cant..."

"Christine...please, just sing it for me. Don't even think about singing it on stage. Just for me."

"And who are you?" She whispered. "Are you my angel now? A ghost? A phantom? A murderer or a talented magician? Or musician? Which is it? You change so quickly before my eyes that I can not keep up with you."

"Sing." He simply growled.

She straightened, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. _'Just don't think.' _She said in her mind.

'_Don't think about all that is attached to the song. It's only words, nothing more. Just sing it.'_

And she did. Somehow, she managed to get through it. But by the end of her perfomance, she wondered if Erik had. His head was bowed, his hands gripping the top of the organ and he breathed hard.

"Erik?" She whispered in confusion.

"You're finished for today." He said in a harsh, low voice.

"But...but we've only just begun! We have quite a few hours to work-"

"You're done!" He growled.

"Erik...what's wrong?" She said softly, slowly advancing upon him before his head flew up, his face red and twisted in frustration.

"You don't have to pretend you are worried about me!" he shouted. "Just leave me to my darkness and go. I'll work with you more tomorrow."

Startled, she quickly walked backwards until she hit the door. She turned and fled, closing the door loudly as she ran to her room.

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	14. Chapter 14

Christine stayed in her room the next day though, refusing to come out, if not just to test what he would do. After all, he wasn't really above her now, was he?

But less than an hour after breakfast times were over, she heard a knock upon her door.

"Yes?" She called out, sitting at her vanity as she brushed her long ringlets.

"Mr. Destler wishes your immediant presence." Came the voice of a shaky Mr. Smith.

"You may tell him that if he wants me there, he may say so himself. I don't accept messangers."

"Miss-" He started to say in a scolding tone, but she cut him off.

"You're business is through, Monsieur."

"But is that really what you wish me to tell him? Ordering him to come himself?"

"You may. But do say so through the door. I don't believe Monsieur Destler knows the meaning of not killing the messenger."

She heard a nervous sigh from him, the retreating footsteps.

Her chest fell in dismay, knowing she sounded to much like a pampered diva, but was she not in training to be one? If she must sing for Erik, shouldn't she reap all the rewards?

Within ten minutes time, there was another knock. "Miss Giry..." It was Mr. Smith.

"Why are you here, Monseiur?" She said in a nice tone, yet underlined with a 'please get to the point quickly' one as well.

"Mr. Destler says that he is busy at the moment and wants you to come without his personal escort."

"If he is too busy to come, then he is too busy to give my lesson." She stated curtly.

"Miss Giry, really, what are you trying to get out of this but more trouble?"

"I will have no trouble, Monsieur. I am your diva. I am what is going to make you more business then you have ever dreamed of. I can not get in to trouble."

"To me, this is true. But you're testing dangerous, unsturdy bridges with Mr. Destler."

"If he is incapable of controlling his anger, then I shouldn't be with him anyway. Is this not true?"

Another sigh, more retreating steps.

She laid down on her bed and waited for Mr. Smith to come back with another report, his words linguering in her mind. Why was she doing this? To prove he couldn't control her? Why prove it? She already knew he could so easily. He had done so before when he was nothing but a lonely ghost with his seductive voice. Why did she think he couldn't do it now when he was powerful?

Suddenly, she gasped and nearly fell off of her bed. The door slammed open to reveal a very angry Erik.

"Why do you disobey me?" He roared. She felt her whole body begin to tremble. She was playing with fire, and now she had to find a way not to get burned.

"I...I don't feel well. My throat aches terribly." She spoke in a whispery, hoarse tone, adding a few convincing chest coughs.

"Oh?" He said, advancing in to look hard on her.

"Yes. And you told me never to attempt singing when my throat hurt."

He looked at her, his red face lessening until it was his normal shade. Then he shrugged.

"You're right. You shouldn't sing. But we need to practice, so I must make sure you get better. I shall take care of you today."

A chill ran through her, knowing that somewhere in his genius mind, a plan had hatched, and it wasn't to her benefit.

He carefully pulled the covers over her and tucked her in. "I'll be back shortly."

When she opened her mouth to ask why, he quickly shook his head. "No talking. Your voice needs rest."

When he went out the door with the promise to return, the feeling he left surrounding her really did make her feel ill.

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	15. Chapter 15

"Erik, please no more. Please!" She begged him, but he shook his head and kept at it. "Please?"

Finally he finished and handed her the steaming cup. "Drink."

"I have been drinking it. I've drank five cups today! Please, I don't want anymore!"

"You need to get better. We need today's practices. So until you feel better enough to accompany me back to the stage to practice, you will keep drinking."

It wasn't a matter about today's rehearsal. It wasn't about singing, or her throat. It was a battle of wills; who could stand their ground longer. Erik was very stubborn. Usually Christine was too, but sniffing the drink in her hands and knowing what was coming made her stomach churn and her head have second thoughts. She didn't know what he had made this out of, but she was sure that it was of the most rank stuff he could find, though it did open her throat and nose, making them very clear.

Everything in her loved to sing. Now as she looked in to the murky water, she wondered if it wouldn't be so bad to sing for him.

She looked up to be his questioning gaze, seeing how far she would go. It was obvious by the look in his eyes that he was already impressed, though Christine couldn't see this.

"I'm sorry about what I did to you." She whispered. "I'm sorry I left you like I did. I was too scared to think about how it would affect you."

"Of course. I understand." He said, his voice gruff. "Just like you didn't think about how it would devastate everyone when you ran away, right?"

Her eyes went wide. "Did I hurt you then too?"

"Me? Oh no, Christine, not me. I knew you had fled like a child. I didn't mind. But everyone around me did. That boy of yours is so crushed he looks like he will surely die at any moment if you keep away. Anntoinette Giry is desperate to find you, afraid you are long dead. And the little Giry cries herself to sleep from worry."

"I thought you didn't care about them?"

"No, but everyone thought you did, and that's what's what counts. You cared, yet you left without anyone's consent. I just thought you might want to know what your reward was for your foolishness."

Her reward? She bowed her head, avoiding his gaze.

"You're angry with me because of it." She said in light surprise.

"I am. I was apart of your raising. I helped in giving you manners and how to act. And look at what you did? I'm sure Madame Giry would feel the same if she wasn't so worried. You made me look bad. Not to ignorant people, but to me. You made a disgrace of yourself, and therefore you disgrace me."

"I'm sorry." She replied, barely above a whisper but pure.

"It doesn't matter anymore. You wont do it to me again, this I'll make sure of."

Those words seemed to wrapped around her body and constrict, as if she was closed in, forced in a cage...she felt him rising and her lowering in status with those words.

So she drank. The taste turned her mouth in to a disgusted frown, her throat begging to gag it back, but she refused and swallowed it hard.

Erik saw this. His shoulders fell and he looked away with disappointment. The status had equaled once again, but it was impossible to keep it that way. Erik had to leave either beneath or above her. It just couldn't work as equals. He'd never allow it.

And then, she gave in. "I'll sing for you. I'll sing, just please take this away from me!" She exclaimed, pushing the tea cup in to his gloved hands. He tried to hide his smile but failed. "Alright. Then I'll leave you to get ready. I'm going to take care of this and I'll come back for you." He directed. But she stayed in bed and wondered what she just did. Seeing that she wasn't making any moves to get herself ready, Erik, now at the door, held up the cup of tea. "Or would you rather finish your tea first?"

"No!" She exclaimed, her legs immediately hitting the floor. She reached over for a brush, for now all her carefully combed curls needed to be tended to again.

He nodded in satisfaction, then left, closing the door softly.

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	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I hope no one thinks this is dragging. I proimise that it will pick up and some really good scenes are on the way. :)**

When Christine agreed to let Erik be her teacher again, she had no idea what she was getting in to. He went back to being strict again, and worked her hard. There would be no fooling around, for obviously she had done enough of that in his eyes.

"Again." He commanded, his voice growing gruff from repeated commands. She sighed.

"I haven't eaten lunch yet. Couldn't we eat?"

Erik glanced up at her, deciding. At first he felt quite angry that she would even suggest a thing, seeing that they were just getting somewhere, but then he remembered that he never got hungry, but that didn't mean Christine was the same.

"Alright." he said reluctantly, standing up.

"You're going with?" She asked in her surprise.

"Would you rather me not?" A stern gleam came in to his eyes, and she seemed to shrink in front of it as she quickly shook her head.

"Of course not. It would be a pleasure." She lied quickly, then opened the door and started walking out as he followed.

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"Will you not at least tell me how I am doing?" She asked while they sat in a fancy diner.

"Do you want to end up like Carlotta? With a big ego and no thoughts in her head but complete foolishness?"

Christine shook her head as she looked down, trying to hide her smile. In his own way, as she had learned from her childhood, that was him telling her that she was doing very well, and he was simply refraining from telling her. He had always wanted to shield her from her own ego. To be kept good and kind and innocent. So far, it had worked. But she only wished he would compliment her a little more. How she had always yearned to know what he thought! How she was doing! If her voice was good enough for such trained ears.

"When did you...when did you leave Paris?" She asked, suddenly shy.

"A few days after you." Came his short reply.

"Did...how was..."

Erik sighed at her pathetic attempt. "You don't need to sweet talk and act like you are interested in my affairs to get the information you really want. Everyone was a wreck when I left, Paris in an uproar, officers trying in vain with their vast search. There's not much else. As for now...you guess is as good as mine. Why? Are you worried that the good Vicomte has convinced himself you are dead and has moved on to another?"

Christine was taken aback, tears stinging her eyes as she looked back at him, hurt. "I didnt..." She started to say, but stopped. Could she really tell him though that he had hit home? "You dont...think so, do you?"

Erik threw his head back and laughed at this one. "My Aminta, look at you now! Really, could you be truly asking for reassurance from such a pessimist as I?"

She bowed her head, willing her tears to stay, yet being unsuccessful. But this seemed to shatter something inside of Erik.

"I don't understand. If you love him so much...if you fear for you being replaced...well, why are you here? Why are you Aminta Giry? Why torture yourself?"

She bit her lip, then shook her head. "I cant tell you." She whispered hoarsely.

Erik suddenly stood up and hurried to her side, forcing her to stand and look him in the eye. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" His voice was forceful and demanding, concern overwhelming. "If he touched you Christine, I shall kill him within an instance!"

But she calmly shook her head. "He never hurt me, Erik. He's never been anything but the best towards me." She said in enough passion to make him convinced. It seemed like he might have been a bit disappointed. Sitting gracefully back in his seat again, he continued with his meal, not saying another word. But Christine sat in wonder, not missing the fact that he had dropped all formalities and called her by her real name. He cared...

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	17. Chapter 17

"Better! You must get better, Aminta. Look, you're posture is terrible! Just because you are in America does not mean you must slouch like Americans. Shoulders erect. Breath deeper. You know these things!"

His words weren't as harsh as his hurtful, icy tone as he grew quickly weary. Oh, how could he sit there and do such?

"If you wore a corset, perhaps you'd realize that bending a bit helps to actually breath." She retorted angrily. "And it makes breathing deep near impossible. I do what I can in such."

"The corset? That wretched thing is holding you back? What idiotic sense is this? If it is truly the cause of your lacking, then by all means, don't wear it anymore!" He replied carelessly.

She looked at him, completely stunned. "America or France...they still wear corsets!" She exclaimed, apalled by his statement.

"In Persia they don't don such silly things."

"I'm not in Persia!"

"Obviously..." He groaned, straighening his music sheets.

"Why do you say that as such."

He sighed, then got anxious. "Because, Aminta, if you were in Persia, you'd be shunned for speaking to a man like such." He told her. "Now if that is enough of a history lesson, may we continue? If you wish to keep the corset as is, then you best work through your problems and perfect what I say with it on as if you didn't."

The music started. Christine gritted her teeth down for a moment in her anger, then did her best to sing to his satisfactory.

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Erik began getting crueler by the day. Christine did her best to be cooroperative, but he refused to let up. Heated arguments ensued, often ending with her crying and running out of the music room, Erik sending out his hot tempered threats. She didn't want to sing, and he wanted to get famous. The team seemed to no longer fit, no longer meant to be. Before, oh before it was wonderful! He focused on her personally. Loved her, wanted her happy. He was concerned for her reputation, not his. And she...she loved to sing. Not for her, not for money, not for anyone else's fame, but for her angel. Her angel that all her dedication went to. Her angel that was now forever gone.

"This isn't working!" Christine finally cried out in frustration after he yelled at her again.

"No, it's not. Do it right!"

"I cant! I don't understand it and you aren't patient enough to teach me right. You're a wretched teacher, Erik! You weren't once, but you sure are now!" She sobbed out, her face twisted in anger.

"You once didn't think that you were too good for such places. Why do you care what happens? You got a rich Vicomte to go back to when you tire of such things. It's you whom is no longer working right, Aminta. Not me."

"That's not true." She whispered, feeling an ache in her heart.

"It is. And you know it is. You have a back up plan now. Somewhere else to run to. A better life to lead. You don't sing to eat. I made you a diva - they pay you well. You don't have to worry about being thrown on the streets on having no where to turn. It has spoiled you completely, and I find that you are too hardened now in your ways to teach. But teach I shall. You must do this performance, therefore you may as well soften up a bit and forget your beloved France."

"Forgetting is part of the reason I came here in the first place, afterall." She added in a soft voice, her eyes downcast.

"Forget what?" Erik gently probed, suddenly calmed. How he at least wanted to crack this mystery! He had quite the feeling that if he knew, this strange barrier between them would crumble. For while that wall was up, he couldn't see her. He could only see a part of her - shallow and everything not right. He wanted to see the perfect side of her - the pure side.

She shook her head. "Just to...forget things that has plagued me too greatly. I thought if I went far enough away, I'd have to many things to think about to let me be plagued any longer. But that didn't work..."

"It hasn't? Why is that?"

She looked up at him, her doe brown eyes meeting his harder, squinting ones that strained to understand.

"Because there was a major flaw that happened. And it has prevented my forgetting. My...healing. May I leave now?"

Erik's head cocked to the side, still trying to see through her words.

"I doubt your stubbornness of today will let us progress any further. You might as well."

She quickly turned upon her heel and walked out of the room, leaving Erik to his ponderings. Had she meant him? Had he been that sudden flaw?

Shaking his head, he wondered why he cared. Her petty problems didn't concern him or his need to resurrect this place. Or did it?

More though, he wanted to know how it could be that he was able to be so strict with her despite her pleas, but one mention of her pain from France made that anger freeze in it's place.

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	18. Chapter 18

Yet the next day, all kindness and pity had vanished when Erik sprung a new surprise upon the unexpecting Christine.

"You want me to..." She stumbled, her eyes wide, body lightly trembling.

Erik sighed impatiently. "For the third time now: the gala is a week from tonight. And you shall be in attendance. You shall sing, one song is all, sometime during the night - I have yet to decide the best timing."

She shook her head violently. "No! No Erik, you can not do this to me! I don't want to sing there! On stage...at night...yes, but not at galas! I don't even attend galas anymore!" Christine's pleas fell upon deaf ears.

"You liked them just fine in France." He reminded her, an eyebrow perked.

"I did. Until the last one I went to. I have yet to recover from such. I don't wish to go to this one either - especially if you shall be in attendance as well."

Erik let out a light chuckle, basking in the memory. "And here I was, thinking we were quite the sensation. But no matter - that was a different time, different people. That was between Christine Daae and a Phantom. You are Aminta Giry and I am Erik Destler. It's a different time, different place...different people. And you shall sing."

"I don't-"

"You shall. Monsieur Smith has already confirmed it."

Christine let out a cry, looking defeated and angered. "That's not fair, Erik! I am not your puppet for you to do anything you wish or to be your title's slave!"

"Yet if you wish to keep your good name..."

"And if you wish to keep yours..."

Erik shook his head. "Your threat is empty, Aminta."

"How? If I reveal you...oh, you have much more to lose than I!"

"And this is where you are wrong. Yes, I have a horrid reputation. I've been called a Phantom, a murderer, a ghost. Yet it's what I've lived with all my life. I've been on the run from these types of people for as long as I can remember. If you were to turn me in, I'd simply be on the run again. I'd simply hide away. While I'm at it, do you know of any young, niave girls with musical talent? Perhaps I should try Spain or Scotland next..."

Christine was just about to let out her fury again when Erik continued on, not even noticing her face.

"But you, my Aminta...you have much to lose. You care about your reputation. About the Vicomte's reputation. For if you shame yourself, you shame him. He loses face. You shame the Populaire. You shame too many, and you would never do that. You have too must a heart to do any of those things. Yet as you know, I have none."

"That's for sure." She whispered, her eyes now filled with tears.

"As long as you are now aware of this, answer me. Do you agree to sing?"

She nodded. What other choice did she have? "What song? Perhaps something from Hannibal? Or Il Muto...perhaps that would be nice? Or maybe-"

"The red rose." Erik said in a low voice.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. "Excuse me?"

"You know what I said."

"But I do not believe it."

"Best start to do so - you sing it in front of thousands next week."

"But it's a lullabye!" She cried out, desperate for any song but that.

"It's a beautiful melody. And you'll sing it in French, not English. They wont understand the words anyway. They'll just hear your voice and the tune...they'll have to expand the theater for your first performance."

Christine paused, bowing her head as she thought it over. Then she looked at him again, a tear slipping slowly down her cheek. "Please...anything but that song. I'll sing for you...but not that."

"Yet that was your favorite song when you were little."

"It was, but only because I didn't know what it meant. You never explained it to me!"

"I didnt I had to." He replied simply.

"I don't want to sing it, Erik. Please, anything but this song! Any of them!"

He opened his mouth to say something, but she quickly let out a yell.

"Not that one either!"

Erik turned away from her as he chuckled lightly, hoping she wouldn't notice his grin. "Then it's the red rose."

"I still don't want to."

"Monsieur Smith heard it already. Loved it. He Doesn't know the real words, but he thought it would fit perfectly. It's already set in motion."

She sighed, knowing that this was just another argument that she would end up losing. What happened to the good days when he let her have what ever she wished?


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: This is just a follow up. Tomorrow I have this really big test so I'm going to do the update today instead of then. No, it's not long, but I didn't want to add the next part of it, because the next part really needs it's own chapter. **

**I'm really glad you're all liking this! It's a thrill to see so many react. I'm near 90 reviews now and I'm not even close to being done! So here's a round of applause for all of you:)**

**And finally: The Red Rose song...well, you never heard of it before, I'll tell you that. But the whole thing is one big hidden meaning to everyone but Christine and Erik. It's why she's ever so reluctant in singing it. In the next chapter though...next chapter is the grand gala. ;)**

A week passed quicker than Christine could have thought was possible. Nevertheless - the gala was indeed here. All week Christine came up with excuses not to go, but Erik fixed every one of them, but to her dismay. Her last had been that she hasn't a suitable outfit for the occassion. And here she was, the clock ticking away the hour she had left to get to the gala, and she was still without one.

She was just about to go to Erik and tell him that she couldn't possibly go, but then there was a knock on the door. Upon opening it, she found a maid with a thick outfit cover over her arms.

"This is for you, Miss Giry. Sent by Mr. Destler." She said simply, handing it over and bowing her head before walking away.

Now Christine quickly shut the door with a kick of her foot, then laid the outfit cover down on the bed, quickly unzipping it in eager antisipation. Erik had gotten her a dress. And what a dress at that!

It was slender and of an off blue color - darj ad luminous, though it had so many dangling diamons upon it that it made it look particially white as well, the color changing depending on the light.

The sleeves were off the shoulder and of a very light material, so it felt as if they were not there at all. High heeled shoes that matched the dress perfectly were in the bottom of the bag.

Christine quickly shed her old clothes and put the lovely dress on. Oh, how she glowed in it! The contrasting of her creamy skin upon the pure white and dark blue was simply breathtaking. And it fit her as if it was made especially for her.

Marie came to her room and put up her hair in a royal bun, piled on the top of her head with curls cascading down in a beautiful fashion.

"You really should have a necklace for such a neckline." Marie said, tapping her chin.

"I don't own any."

"I do, but nothing that would fit such a dress. Well, you're beautiful enough to pull this off alone. So you best get going - I hear that Erik wants you to be early to prepare your singing session. Oh, I'm very excited to hear you, Aminta!"

She was - her eyes were glowing in contrast to Christine's scared, skittish ones. Marie noticed her nervousness and offered her an arm. "Would you like me to escort you? I haven't a date either."

"No George?"

"Not officially, anyway. We're to meet up once we're there."

"You mean...right down the hallway?"

Marie let out a laugh. "Yeah...down the hallway."

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	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Love going out to all my wonderful reviewers! This story was a but dead for a while, but now I'm full on inspirtation, so here we go again!**

Christine's eyes were soon dazzling away the fright. Oh, the ballroom was so beautiful! She felt out of place in a sea of rich, fancy people. After all, she had only ever been a ballet rat and a lowly singer...right?

She bit her lip, winding her fingers in and out of each other. All she wanted to do was turn back and run. But as soon as she was thinking about doing that very thing, a cool hand was laid upon her arm.

"You look...well." She heard, then sighed. Not even a good compliment tonight?

"Hello Erik. You look well yourself." It was as much as lie as his had been. For Erik looked incredibly handsome. He had taken great care to look good, and it had surely paid off. In fact, she had to hide a gasp when her gaze first fell upon his face.

"Shall we just stare at each other all night or will you allow me to assist you to where you shall be singing?"

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She closed her eyes. It had been over two hours since most had been here, little over a half since she had been. Yet her nerves had not yet slowed. Instead, they multiplied until she wondered if she was doomed to faint.

"I don't think I can do this anymore." She whispered with tears in her voice and eyes. "Erik...please..."

"There's no backing out now." He said firmly.

"But I don't want to do this! I never did! You forced me to say so, but I don't want to perform! Please, don't make me, Erik! I beg you!"

Oh, how it pierced his heart to hear her pleas! His mind quickly flashed back in to the happy days of when he was still in the lair, teaching innocence how to sing. Funny, was it not, that when he was a mere Phantom, a wanted, hated man - he was happier? Shaking his head and ignoring these thoughts, he focused on her. She was no longer the willing obedience that she once was. No longer the girl whom he's give his life for. She was a singer. A singer in New York that had his reputation in her hands.

"You're singing. Please do not ask me again."

"Oh, but I cant, Erik! I simply cant! This is different than on stage! On stage, it's class. It's opera! Those who oppose of it are thought simply uncultured. Therefore they don't complain. But this is me! Just me, no reputational standard of the opera to stand behind me. I feel naked upon the eyes of all these judgmental people, and I hate that feeling! I don't want to feel that way! Please, let me step down on this. Please, Erik! I wont ask a single thing ever again. I'll do whatever you wish me to do, and I wont argue or be difficult! Please!"

But he didn't relent. "You shall sing, and you shalt ask me again." He told her solidly, then walked away. 

"Please Erik!" She shrieked finally, forgetting herself. He stopped in his tracks because everyone else did, looking upon what had happened. She stood at the top of the stairwell, her face soaked in tears that kept coming. She looked the role of a tragic angel. And when Erik turned to her, then simply kept walking the opposite direction, she looked like a defeated one. With her shoulders slouched forward, she retreated slowly up the stairs to await when she'd have to sing.

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She didnt see Erik until it was time. The announcement had been made soon after she fled to her hiding space that the Miss Aminta Giry would be singing a solo song tonight upon the fourth hour of the night.

And when the clock chimed loudly that it was time, Erik walked up the stairs and met her. "It is time."

She looked away, her cheeks still not dried.

"Come now, Aminta! You have messed up the paint on your face! Your eyes are as red as your cheeks from your fit. I'll send someone to quickly fix your disposition."

And with that, he disappeared again. His voice was casual, detached. Letting out a fresh sob, she awaited her time.

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Her porcline face was painted again, her dress smoothed out. And the announcer shouted out that it was finally her time to sing. She walked out slowly, exaggerating every step in order to stall a little longer. She looked out to the crowds that watched her anxiously.

And then she spotted Erik. He was directly in front of her stage, his gloved fingers gripping the wood. She walked to center stage. Erik quickly signaled the music.

"You can do it." He told her, looking up in to her eyes.

She shook her head in dismay and looked at him with pure misery before changing her view. And then, she sang out.

_When the red rose rises to greet the dawn,_

_She stretches, she reaches, trying to greet the morn!_

_Yet little black ribbons keep her from leaving, going, gone..._

_But rose fights against the chains until she's battered, beaten torn!_

_The little rose begs to flee away, from her dungeons, prisions, caves_

_The only thoughts within her, are that of freedom's way!_

_She only waits for her savior; it's she whom he will save,_

_He'll cut her binds and spring her back into the light of day._

_She'll leave the black ribbons, cut, shattered, scorned_

_Never knowing it's great love for her, a requited love unborn!_

_Never knowing how he tried to set her free, as she sworn her petals pinned._

_It's dark, great love shunned, now scattered to the wind..._

The music stopped, and Christine felt utterly hollow and lost. She hated Erik more now than she ever had in all her life. Without a glance in his direction, she stiffly walked off stage, ignoring the chants of an encore.

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**A/N: Sorry if the song isn't very good. This whole gala scene wasn't originally planned, so when I stuck it in there, I needed a song quick. I came up with this one in like, three minutes, so forgive me if it isn't very good. I believe it did it's job though, right? bites bottom lip nervously**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hey all! Thanks so much for all the great reviews:)**

Christine tore the dress from her clammy skin, her fingers trembling. Quickly she dressed in a white nightgown, keeping her feet bare as they sent chills through her body from the cold floors. Just as she turned to the bed, there was a knock.

"Don't ignore me, Aminta. It's just me."

Christine sighed in relief, opening the door. "Hello Marie. Shouldn't you be at the gala still?"

"George seems to be coming down with something. He had to leave early, and therefore there is little for me to do. I feel like I don't fit in anyway amoung such greatness. Do you know all who is here?"

"Many important people. I know how you feel - I share it as well."

"You? Oh, surely not! You're amazing! A diva with the voice of an angel! They all loved you tonight! No, you are much higher than us rats."

"Tell that to Erik." Christine whispered, then shocked herself to realize she said it outloud.

Marie raised an eyebrow. "There's a lot of tention between you two, isn't there? You both made that obvious tonight."

Christine bowed her head. "I know. I shamed myself. And I shamed Erik. I have very irrational emotions and I fear that I don't mask them well."

"Perhaps, but when it comes to masks between you two...I think you have the lesser masks than he. After all, he wears his for all to see."

"Yeah..." Her mouth was opened to continue in her soft voice, yet nothing came out. "I should get some rest while I can. Monsieur Destler wakes me quite early these days."

Marie nodded in agreement and wished her a goodnight.

Christine shut the door, and for once, locked it. Then she blew out her candles, jumped on to her bed and, instead of laying down, she sat in the darkness, her legs against her chest tightly, her arms wrapped around them. Too much was happening. Too much was going on. It was overwhelming. And she hated it!

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Madame Giry paced back and forth in her room. A habit, as many now called it, and indeed they'd be correct. Whenever she thought no one was watching, she'd start to pace. She'd get lost in to her mind so that it was difficult to catch her attention again. It was because of this that many a ballet tart were annoyed.

Yet how could she stop herself? How could she stay out of her thoughts? For they plagued her night and day. Focused on just one thing:

The world was so big. She was one person. And two that were very dear to her were somewhere in that big world, lost in more ways than one.

She had put it all together now, for sure and certain. Meg's words, Vicomte's unconscious ramblings, Christine's behavior along with Erik's... there had been something going on in both of their minds. Had Christine's thoughts plagued her enough to run?

Surely they had. But where to? Where would a poor singer run to? Run to escape the utterly unescapable?

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	22. Chapter 22

Christine remained furious at Erik over the next few days. And to get back at him for what he did, she did what would eventually lead him to go insane - she sang utterly perfectly.

Yet she never said a word outside singing. She'd sing exactly as he wanted, with more passion than he ever saw before when she was merely acting, and then she'd leave. It was strictly professional - the relationship of only a singer and her teacher.

There were no emotions, no caring gestures or words between the two. Any thing that he might say to her that did not retain to singing went unanswered. She knew that he tried to remain as distant as she was succeeding in, yet the truth was in his tortured green eyes - he was crumbling. It was only a matter of time until her revenge came in to light. She expected it to happen any time now - for lately she had taken it to a new level - adding little mutters when she'd 'slip into her mind' about how much she really did still love Raoul and wondered why she still stayed here. Nothing she said was ever the truth, or at least it wasn't the truth that she really wanted Erik to hear. But he had to learn some how that he couldn't treat her like a servant just because he demanded it of her. She had grown up in to a woman, no longer a child. He had made sure of that. She was simply letting him see the results.

Erik ran his fingers through his black hair in distress. "Aminta...no. No, you're not doing it right."

Christine's mouth fell. She let out a cry of utter anguish. "I sang it perfectly! Not a note did I miss!"

He shook his head. "No, you didn't miss a note-"

"Then-"

"There isn't enough passion in your voice."

"Passion?"

"You sing like you must."

"Then I sing of the truth, do I not?"

Suddenly he slammed his hand down hard on to the lower range of keys, making such a dreadful sound that it made her jump. "Damn you, Aminta! Damn you that you can't sing a single thing like you're supposed to! You forget that I am a genius. You have spent too long a time with low life-"

"The people upstairs should be thrilled to hear that." She quickly said.

"It's not those people that I speak of. You know the one. That wretched _boy_ that has gone and ruined you."

"I am _not_ ruined! I sing wonderfully and you know it! You would not have me under such a strict policy if not. You would not put up with so much if I didnt."

"It was not you singing voice that I meant either. He has turned your heart black and of stone when it comes to me. He has made you think you are royalty to this world when you are not. You are too good to be a singer - to even be a diva! In your eyes this life is too low for you. Hell, I am too low for you now! If you remember once, it was different at one time."

"Yet if you'd care to remember, I was just happy being a simple dancer. That certainly wasn't beneath me. It was you who thought so."

"Because I know you can do better. But you...you see differently. As I spoke before - you know there is another life for you to fall back on. You no longer have that need to survive. He took that from you. And I believe he took your passion for this life from you as well."

Her arms were crossed as she turned and stared at the door - anywhere but in his direction. "I'm not supposed to be talking to you."

"No, no of course not! That's your little plan, is it not? To make me jealous? To make me want to force you to speak? That I'll be sweet and nice and loving towards you because I have to have you speak to me? Because I am nothing more than an animal living in the sewers who is starved for your looks, starved for your words, starved for your-"

"Stop it!" Her sudden scream pierced the air, not wanting him to speak another word in case it started to make her shatter her hardness as well. Though neither noticed, silence fell upon the upper stage above them.

"I refuse to speak to you only because I hate the way you treat me. Because I can't stand to even look at you, much less sing for you. Sing for you with...with passion! What do you want? You want me to sing like a used to? Like I did that last time? When I sang with so much passion it nearly destroyed the both of us, let alone countless others! My passion for you, for your songs...for anything that reminds me of you is completely dead. I am an actress, yet I am not that good of an actress. You can not honestly expect me to sing to you love songs and actually sound like I mean them if you treat me like I'm of less value than the dirt on your precious boots!"

And with that, she ran out of the room and slammed it closed as hard as she could.

But he followed her, leaving the loud sound of the organ bench wobbling, then crashing to the hard ground.

"Aminta Giry, you do not run from me! I still own you, whether you wish to believe it or not!"

"You have _never_ owned me!" She turned around and yelled angrily, hot tears starting to course down her cheeks. "I belong to myself! To me! Not to you! I don't need you anymore! And you no longer need me. Everything between us is completely dead. Let it go, Erik! Leave me be!"

"You'll finish this production!" His anger had always been able to match hers, if not overpower.

"I shall. I will be the dutiful singer, and I shall add passion in to my false feelings, but that is it. I will not talk to you and I will not fight. The two of us will be professional or I take my leave. For you are right - I don't need this place to survive. Yet you do."

And with that, she left. Erik glanced up on stage to see everyone stopped in their tracks and staring. Setting his jaw and clenching his fists, he stalked back in to his room, creating a louder and harder slamming than did she.

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	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: And I am BACK! Sorry for the long interruption - I've been extremely busy lately. So without further ado:**

Rehearsals were brutal. Erik stood in front of the stage, in charge of producing the music, yet watching the stage at the same time. Everything had to be perfect, and he made sure everyone would be up to par.

Christine came out to the stage, walking forth. She was the only one on stage, and her hands shook from nervousness. Wiping the sweat of her palms upon her dress lightly, she began to sing Think of Me when Erik stopped her.

"What was wrong?" She asked, apparently very offended to be stopped in front of everyone. After all, she was supposed to be a professional - great at her job.

"Everything! How many times must I repeat the same thing? If you sing without passion and emotion, it's worse than not singing at all. Straighten your back, pull your hair back, and sing with heartfelt sorrow! You sing to your lover to have him remember you while you are separated! Sing like Elise is you! Own the role, Aminta!" He demanded.

Yet she relented. How could she sing like she knew what Elise was going through? Of course she knew, she understood, but if she was to truly sing these things from her heart, she'd surely break down, making Erik only more furious.

She started again, producing her singing louder, higher, purer, yet stopped again for the same thing, Erik growing less patient.

"You were fine for every song but this one. What is your trouble, Aminta?" He demanded, stopping everyone.

She looked away with fury in her eyes. Did he not know yet?

"Perhaps I'm just not as good as I once was." She said defiantly.

"You are as good as you have always been, if not better now that your voice has matured. I have trained you, which means you are wonderful. Now sing this right!"

"Or what?" She dared, fully away of all the people. He couldn't threaten her about her true name if he wanted to conceal his true identity.

He quickly came upon the stage and stalked towards her in such a way that had she been a little younger, she would have been cowering in fear in a corner somewhere. Such anger in his burning eyes, his body tense.

He grabbed her upper arms and shook her hard. "You will do exactly as I say, you hear me? You will do what I ask you to! I will not allow you to be a spoiled brat just because you wish to ruin me. You shalt! Not again!"

"Again?" She whispered, tears welling in her eyes from the pain of his hard grip.

Oh, how his eyes grew even larger in such fury! "What must I do to make you listen? What do you want from me? What do you wish me to do?"

"I don't want you to be anything to me. I hate you, Erik. The only passion I hold for you is a passion for hate towards you." She said through clenched teeth, the tears streaming down her cheeks and continuing down her bare neck. He watched them for a moment, distracted by what he hadn't noticed. He had made her cry. To sob. To hate him. Quickly he released his death grip he had upon her, just to see bright red marks where his fingers and palm had pressed in to her. Disgusted by the proof of his overflowed anger, he took a step back.

"I'm...I'm..." he stumbled, trying to tell her. But now the look of his eyes had fled from his and went in to her own. His eyes were now the ones of sorrow.

"I hate you, Erik Destler. I hate you now and I'll hate you forever for this!" She promised, then spun around and ran from the stage, disappearing in to the dark shadows.

In horror, he remembered that it was he whom he thought was an angel trapped in hell. And now he realized that was wrong.

She was in that place.

And he was simply the devil himself, keeping her wings pinned.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: yes, this is terribly short, but I thought I'd give you something to read while I fix up the next chapter, which is considerablly longer. **

"Aminta? Aminta, I need to talk to you." Erik said softly to the door leading to Christine's room that night.

"Aminta, please!" He wanted to speak louder, but kept his voice low for the other bedrooms close to hers.

"Christine? I just want to speak with you. I promise I wont keep you long. I know you're awake."

The door opened. Her eyes were red and puffy, though her cheeks were now dry. Her face was pale and fallen. She was under too much stress. His caused stress.

"Would you assist me in a walk? It wouldn't take long." He asked again.

"Why?" She whispered, her hand rubbing one of her upper arms. It made Erik flinch, as if he could see the red marks through her white nightgown.

"I think we need to talk."

"Monsiuer, I don't believe that would be wise. There's only two days before the opera opens. I need my sleep if I am to deliver you a well trained voice, do you not think?"

"It will only take a few moments from your sleep, I assure you." He insisted.

"Do you still find fault with my singing?"

"No! No, this doesn't have anything to do with that."

"Then you have no reason to be speaking to me if it doesn't." She said, then quickly shut the door.

His hands turned in to fists, his jaw clenched, his breathing heavy. Anger was plenty, yet he managed to keep it under control. He had already showed her the affects of it this afternoon. Chrisitne had every right to shy away from him now.

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	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Okay, here we go again! Long chapter, turning point, here it is:**

And then it was show time. The grand premier, nerve-wracking for everyone. Since that night two days ago, Erik and Christine hadn't spoken a word to each other, other than when he wished her to sing or where to stand.

Not a word more.

There was something different about Christine now. Like she was broken or hollow. Instead of being head strong and trying to prove her point, she remained quiet and dutiful to his commands.

And it was he who had done it. But Erik didn't know what bothered him more - the fact that he was the cause of her recent sadness, or just how he was. For before, she had told him many times that he was nothing to her. So why act so hollow towards him when he hurt her feelings? He knew others who had been harsh on her, even worse than he, and she would just shrug it off. Never would she allow someone else to keep her upset. So why now? Why because of him, who had no value in her mind?

Something was deeply wrong with her, but for once, he couldn't understand what.

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The show was almost over, so far everything had been perfect. No matter what was happening in Christine's life, it was kept private and hadn't interfered with her stage life. She truly was being Elise. Or at least, up until now.

It was her solo. The grand finale. She timidly walked to the front of the stage, her hands together, looking stunningly beautiful. The music started, but Erik, to his horror, saw tears already in her eyes, one or two already overflowing on to her cheeks. Always had she a problem with this song. Perhaps it was because, as she had let him know in the previous weeks, that it was this song that Raoul had first fallen in love with her.

Or was it bigger than that, his mind allowed him to wonder. After all, was this not the song that they spent countless hours, day after day practicing? Wasn't this the song he promised her would make her a diva? When he would lazily recline in his chair and watch her belt out the notes as pure and dazzling as a real diva at her young age? Where he himself started to really fall in love with her? Had she felt similar in those days? No, he wouldn't allow himself to go that far, but it was a nice fantasy to dwell upon for a moment.

And then his thoughts cleared his head and he returned his gaze to her. She wasn't breathing right, he could see that from his six feet away. It was fast, shallow, not from the diaphragm, but more from the upper chest.

She quickly made an attempt to wipe her eye, but it did little. It was time to sing, and she was losing her nerve.

Her mouth opened, and the words did start to flow. But it his surprise, she was no longer looking out to the audience, but to him! A pained expression was clear upon her face now, like he was breaking her again by just standing there, looking up at her in confusion. She needed encouragement.

He put on a strong face, urging her as an instructor, but this made it worse.

_Think of me...Think of me fondly, when we say good...bye..._

Her voice broke. Her eyes closed, she swallowed hard, then looked at him again. Oh, she looked as if she would die, standing there. But why? _Why? _

And then she did something that he really didn't expect - she ran off stage and out the backstage door leading outside.

Without knowing what he was doing, Erik jumped out of the orchestra and ran after her. She was in his sight as she struggled. It had just rained, and here in the back, it was muddy. She tripped, but got up and tried again. She was heading to the little white gazebo, he realized. And he was right. She clambered up the stairs, throwing herself down and sobbing, her face in the cradle of her arms upon one of the benches. He hurried up the stairs, kneeling beside her. He went to hold her, but stopped, unsure of his position.

"Christine? Christine, why did you run? What's wrong?" He asked, his voice low and husky from gruff emotion.

She shook her head. "I'm...I'm sorry I...ruined your show, Monsieur!" She sobbed, struggling just to breath.

"No...no Christine, don't worry about that. What is happening inside that head of yours? What's wrong?" He was near pleading, which was strange for him. He was a proud, strong man, never a beggar. But he felt like one now, yet didn't care. This was his angel beside him, so full of sorrow she couldn't hold it all. It overwhelmed her. And he had to make it stop. Because he had always done before. Always.

"Christine...why are you here? In New York instead of France?"

This made her head come up, to stare at him in shock. "Oh...monsieur-"

"No more monsieur. No more Aminta. Tell me, Christine."

Somehow, with these words, with the walls between them so quickly crumbling, it encouraged her to talk. It was in her eyes that she wanted to. He sat upon a bench, pulling her on to it as well and wrapping an arm protectively around her.

"I...I had to get away."

"Why?" He breathed.

"Because...I couldn't stay. Because I was...haunted."

"Haunted?" He echoed the words, not understanding.

"By memories. Pain. Guilt."

"Did the Vicomte-"

"It told you before he was nothing less than perfect towards me."

"Then why did you leave him?"

She met his gaze, and that pained expression was back again.

"Why?" He urged, his hold on her tightening to get her closer to him. To offer any security he had to give.

"Why do you care? You haven't before. You've been nothing but a cold teacher-"

"Forgive me." He interrupted her with a passionate, low voice.

"No. No, it was what I wanted. What I needed. Why...why I was here."

His brow furrowed, now truly confused. "But you didn't even know I'd be here. You didnt..."

She shook her head. "I came here to get over you, Erik. I felt horrible for what I did. And so many memories and feelings plagued me. I was scared. Scared that I might have made the wrong decision. And late at night when there was nothing to distract me, my heart became more and more sure that I indeed had. I wanted to get away, I couldn't admit it. I couldn't go back. It would have killed Raoul, and you never would have been able to see me. Not after what I had done to you. Not after I chose another man over you. A man that called you a monster. I thought...if I got away...if I came here, I could get these feelings out. I could make them fade. And then I'd return to Raoul, and no one would be further hurt but me. Don't you see? I had to run away. I couldn't tell Raoul that I wanted to rid my feelings for you! I couldn't tell him that I had to be alone. He wouldn't have understood any excuses. He wouldn't have let me go. But when you were here...oh Erik, you don't know the torture!"

"Don't I?" He whispered. It was the only thing he could say after her confession so far.

She shook her head. "I know what you went through. I realized here what I put you through. But when you were mad at me...I understood. And I used that anger to try and get me to hate you. But I couldnt! So I got you angrier, hoping that you would finally break and truly hate me. To make me hate you." She pulled up her little off the shoulder puff sleeves that conveniently covered bruised on her skin that were in the shape of a hand. He winced.

"When you did this...I had waited for it. But when it happened...it didnt work. It made me feel...like there was no way out. No escape. I felt helpless. Like a slave."

"A slave?" He questioned, but he already knew the feeling all too well.

"A slave...yes. It sounds so...dramatic. Like it's own opera. Perhaps cliche? But when the bliss of love wears thin, all you have left is that feeling of love. That connection of the hearts, whether you wish it or not. You cant make it go away, no matter how hard you truly try. And then it's like you're a slave to it, you're heart tricking you in to feeding it."

Erik sat there, staring at her, no longer able to comfort. Even his arm had fallen away from her shoulders.

"How can this be true?" He asked, shaking his head.

"Because you're not a monster, Erik. You're not evil. You're a man. A man that has cared for me for years, even when I was all too blind to see it. My denial was strong for a long time, but not strong enough. I couldn't marry Raoul with a pure heart while my denial was stripped bare of me."

"So now you just told me that you...you...love me. Then how are you going to-"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I thought it would eventually go away. I thought I'd be rid of it by now. I didn't expect this to happen, so I don't know what to do."

Yet she did do something. She leaned over to him and kissed him. Softly at first, then deepening it once his arms went around her again. Her mind immediately whirled back to that night, the last time she did this, but quickly blocked it. Those were times of despair. These times were too for her, but not at this moment. No, this moment would be bliss again.

She felt him pull her closer. So all this time had just been an act. He did still love her. He did. She was in more trouble now than ever.

A throat cleared not far from them. A gasp as well. Christine pulled away to look over in surprise when she saw most of the cast of the opera, with the exception of the dancers, and Mr. Smith standing before them.

Instead of pushing her away, Erik's grip grew stronger upon her. It was always his first defense - protect.

"Would someone like to explain what's happening here? Why my opera is ruined? Why my opera house will have a tinted name on it forever now?"

Mr. Smith's voice sounded coldly. Christine shivered, looking back at Erik. What could they say?

When Erik went to say something, anything to them, Mr. Smith interrupted. "Not now. Not here. The ballet tarts have improvised for you, but that last scene shall be sung. Everyone back in." He demanded.

Christine stood up, Erik held her hand as they walked back in.

"Can you do the song? If you cant, no one can make you." He said, his protective side strong once again.

She just looked up and grinned at him, then followed the rest in.

The show was finished, bows were taken, and night time fell again.

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	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to get up! I had a few chapters written, but somehow they managed to disappear, much to my discouragement. But I'm back to rewriting them. Sorry this is so short, but I wanted to get it up as soon as possible to get this story rolling again.**

They stood at the dock, suitcases surrounding their feet, yet one of their hearts was doubtful and scared, wavering.

"You shouldn't do this. You'll ruin everything. You're whole life you've been aching for the respect that you so deserve...don't throw that all away for me." Christine pleaded, her soft brown eyes watering at the thought of him back in the lair. "Not after all you've worked so hard on successfully accomplishing."

He gave her a twisted smile, as if he was pitying her. She waited for him to explain this action as he ran his fingers gently through her long curls.

"Respect brings no warmth. It's cold, it brings a title, but there is little more to it. I have lived in the cold for too long. The only thing I want to accomplish is to live in warmth for once."

Christine shook her head violently, large tears falling from her eyelashes and coursing down her cheeks in rash motions. "No Erik, this can't bring you warmth! It'll bring you pain, and I can't bare to be the one who causes it again. It'll be your torture...and mine."

"The only thing I've ever wanted for so long was to be near you. The fact that you aren't far away will have to be enough to satisfy me until death."

In vain she tried to wipe her tears away, but more fell. With her head bowed, she swore that her heart would break and bleed out at any moment now.

"What are you going to do in France?" Her voice trembled.

"Does it matter? I have enough money to live in a house, comfortably. Perhaps I'll get in touch with Nadir again. But no matter what happens... it'll make little difference. When we get there...we'll go our separate ways. You'll go to the Vicomte, and I'll find somewhere to go where you won't find me. And we shall never meet again."

"Why? Why must it be that way?" She was pleading again.

"Because you are honorable. I wont have you stray from that for me. I won't let you be tempted by false hope that seeing me could ever satisfy your curiosity." Slowly, he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. "Though I dare say nothing could do that."

She turned from his touch, none of his kind words reaching her anymore. She looked away, biting her lip as she tried desperately to control her facial emotions.

Erik saw this. Picking up her suitcases along with his, he motioned her forward. "We must board the ship now."

She nodded and trailed slowly after him.

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	27. Chapter 27

Three weeks had gone by since they had first boarded the ship. Three weeks, but it felt like time was sand through their fingers. They'd wake at dawn break each morning and watch the golden sun rise above the often gentle waves. Somehow, every once in a while Erik would overcome his self consciousness to partake in some of the ship's entertainment, if Christine insisted.

And at night...night seemed to turn life in to a fairytale. Supper was in a beautiful ballroom, a live band to accompany the mood. They'd eat, and then whenever she thought she could get away with it, Christine would run to the band and plead to borrow a violin. And then she'd hurry back in eagerness, the look in her eyes making her seem like she was thirteen again, begging him to play. He could never resist her requests before when she acted as such, and he found that he couldn't now. So he'd stand and he'd play one of the songs he had composed for her, but only under the persuasion of her voice accompanying him. When the violin would be placed safely back in the professional's hands, Erik would take Christine in to his arms and dance with her, watching as she turned back in to an adult again. After the ballroom cleared out, they'd make their way to the dock and stand under the stars and a glistening moon that reflected off the waters, illuminating their faces. It was here that she'd often beg for a tale of Erik's past. She had heard near all of them, or at least what he'd ever allow her to know, yet they never grew old. Usually, his voice would be soft and gentle, caressing her mind in to unconsciousness and drifting off to sleep in a chair, still on the deck. He'd leave her there for a while as he continued talking, staring at her starlit skin and her silk curls that framed it. He'd caress her arm gently enough not to wake her sleeping form, the knowledge always right there that all too soon, he'd never be this close to her ever again. He enjoyed every moment with her, though his heart stayed sunken. The thought of only being a phantom to her memory was killing him by the day.

But now it was dinner, and Christine was hurrying to finish her meal. By her actions, he knew that tonight was one of those nights that they'd be showing off their skills. He picked up his relaxed pace on his own meal, knowing if he didn't eat now, he'd go hungry, for once the violin was in his hands, there was no going back to eating. Yet how could he get himself to care when he held his whole world in his arms?

And then she was pushing her chair out. She flashed him a dazzling smile, her eyes on fire from kept in excitement. With a hand running on his shoulder to assure him that she'd be right back, she ran across the room to the band and flashed her smile at the men there.

"May I?" Christine asked in her sweetest voice. By now they had gotten used to her, and the man that had been playing soon quit and handed his finely finished violin, sending her hurrying back. With her eyes glowing, she held out the violin.

Erik accepted it with a grin, but it wasn't enough. Christine grabbed his arm, urging him to stand before everyone.

"I'm starting to think that the only reason you keep me around is to show me off to get you some attention." He whispered jovially.

She giggled and stood before him, awaiting to hear his melody so she could sing along. When he started, she recognized this song easily, and stared at him in confusion.

"Think of Me?" She whispered in question. So far, they only had done his own pieces, none of the operas.

Not only was it an opera, but it was started at a strange spot - the ending. Why the ending?

"Sing it." He urged.

She shrugged, not even trying to figure him out. "Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons so do we. Please promise me that sometimes, you will think..." this was when she was supposed to be her big finale, yet she stopped, her voice quitting.

"Erik?" Her smile had vanished, her happy eyes fading, starting to glisten with tears.

"You're missing you're cue." He chided softly, his eyes gently pushing her.

"I don't want to sing anymore." She said suddenly, then hurried out of the ballroom and up to the deck.

Erik shoved the instrument on the table, following her. She ran to the railing at the back of the ship, breathing deeply as she stared at the stars.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, putting a cool hand at the back of her bare neck.

She shook her head, her eyes closed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Whether you want to or not, you must. Don't you realize what tomorrow is?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "No..."

"Sometime between late morning and early afternoon, we dock. We're almost there."

"Tonight is our last night?" She said in disbelief.

"It is."

"I had lost track...no, that's not true...I've done my best to forget..."

"The last three weeks have been something I've never experienced before. Something I never thought I could take part in. I was happy...really happy. And I know you were too. But we can't waver on what we agreed on."

She nodded, knowing this already. Their times together had to come to a close. She had to return to France and Raoul, and he had to find a new way of life.

He sat down in a nearby chair, taking her hand in his and slowly lowering her down to his lap. He noticed she was crying again, though trying to keep it hidden.

"Christine-"

"Tell me a story." She quickly interrupted, still trying to ignore the inevitable.

"I've told you my whole life story already...a few times over, actually."

"Then tell me again. I want to make sure I remember it forever."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: First off, I'm glad to see some new reviewers! Welcome.**

**This is quite a short chapter, but it was quite unplanned. While I was trying to write the ne**x**t chapter, it didn't feel right that they wouldn't have more interaction on the ship, so I added this:**

Christine awoke in habit just before dawn. But today, she couldn't get out of bed. No...she just wouldn't. Getting out of bed and going to greet the sunrise would mean that she has accepted what today was. And she simply wasn't ready to do that.

Yet staying in bed was not an option. It wasn't long until there was a knock upon her door. "Christine?" Came the gentle voice, ready for persuading.

"You're missing the last sunrise." he continued. _The last sunrise for the last day of her life that would be full of light_, she thought to herself before she could stop it. Shaking her head, she scolded her inner demons for thinking such a thing.

Returning to her fiancé was not a death sentence.

Returning to a man that has yet to give up on her, his burning love for her yet to diminish. These thoughts had her heart awakening, if not her body to the day. Yes, she did love Raoul, she could feel it now, now that she allowed her mind to remember.

She had done her best to remove her heart from the same situation she has been in for all too long, but as she laid there in bed, the ship bringing her closer to her promised and Erik at her door, she saw that she had been terribly unsuccessful.

She turned on to her stomach and dug her head in to her pillow. Decision time was over, now all they had to do is act upon their carefully laid out plans. But talk was cheap, her body leddened, and the knowledge that the sun was growing in the sky made it impossible to breath, let alone move.

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He heard a groan from inside, but no movement. She was planning to stay there in her room until the shipmen had to drag her out when they docked. But Erik was never one to have his plans thrawted by a stubborn, scared girl. After all, he had stayed up all night thinking things through - and Christine refusing his company one last time were no where in those plans.

Taking the key out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Her sheets had been kicked off her body and on to the floor, leaving her white nightgown exposed. Yet the one part of her he was desperate to see was covered. Her face. All he could see was a sea of long, dark curls cascading over her shoulders and pillow.

"Christine..."

"What time do we arrive?" Came her muffled question. He could tell by the quiver in her voice that she had started to cry again.

"Two hours." he replied in truth. He listened to her suck in her breath. They had arrived earlier than had been planned. He saw her back start to rise and fall rapidly. She was scared and reluctant to try to carry on.

So he sat at the side of his bed, his hand hovering over his back. He wanted to comfort her, to show that he was still here for the now, but he was unsure of their boundries. Yet the fact of him never being close to her again burned in her mind until he found his hand resting her back.

"You'll do just fine. You love him. He loves you, and is very capable of providing for you." He didn't add what his heart begged him to say;

_Unless you've changed your mind..._

She nodded and sat up, wiping her face with her sleeves.

"You don't have anything to worry about. And my friendship isn't worth such distress. Just wait until you settle back in your home. Everything will feel right again." He assured.

"And if it don't?"

She was tired. She had a few glasses of wine last night. She was scared. Her words weren't anything to give his selfish side hope. Yet they had. Foolishly, they had.

"You won't have to worry about that. All you have to worry about now is getting dressed for your day. I'll leave you to do so." He said. As he stood up, his fingertips ran on top of her hand. It seemed accidental, yet it was anything but. It was the last time he'd be able to touch her.

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	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Sorry if the story is a little slow. It's going to start picking up. **

"Now remember - not a word of me! You were in New York because you your mother always wanted to sing there, and your father used to speak of it often. You thought it would be a place of final solace to put your past to sleep, and thought it was best to go alone - completely alone."

"But Erik, what about you?" Christine asked, tired of hearing the same words come out of his mouth. He was worried about her for sure - but over and over he told her what to say, until it started to feel like the reality. But never had he spoke of what he would do.

"You know what I'll do."

"Tell me again."

"I'll settle down somewhere. Get a new name, just in case. Nadir will watch over you and make sure you stay safe in my absence. I'm going to make myself untraceable - even for you. No more temptations. You'll go home, you'll smooth it over with your fiancé and marry the love of your life."

"And you?"

"I just told you about me."

"What about you loving someone?"

"I already love someone."

She tilted her head in confusion. Was he referring to her or someone else?

Upon seeing her face, a small smile cracked on his lips as he shook his head, dismissing the subject.

"Do you think you'll be alright, now?" Erik asked softly, his features crinkled as he tried to hide his pain.

She stared at his long, hunched figure standing in the dark corner and worried about him. She'd be heading to a home full of only the best luxuries, to a man that loved her with all his heart. And Erik? What was he going home to? A lonely, cold house, changing his name and identity, having to find another way to live, now that he can't be the great Erik Destler. She had come to New York with only herself to worry about - and she was going back not only with her mission failed, but with a newly broken man as well. What had she done?

While she was entangled in her silence, Erik picked up their suitcases, handing her the two that were her own, then looked her close in the eye. "Ready to go on shore?"

She bit the inside of her lip as tears began to well. Inpulsively, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, then quickly nodded and turned her back to him, walking out of her room and in to the hallways. When she realized that she couldn't hear him following, she stopped and turned to see him standing in the doorway, watching her retreat.

"Erik?"

"We can't go out together."

"What?" She asked, taken off her guard.

"If I know anything about the Vicomte, he has guards everywhere, even still, awaiting for you. We can't go out there together. It's nearly dark - I'll come out in a few hours. But you must go now."

Chewing on her lip, she tried to resist all the thoughts that came rushing in to her mind.

"So this is goodbye for good, then?" She spoke in a whisper, not sure if her built up emotions would allow any more than that.

Erik said nothing, just nodded and watched her walk a few steps back towards him.

"You should go quickly. It's easier, I suppose." He said.

"Easier?" She echoed, tilting her head again.

The sky was entering it's twilight, and this shone upon her through a nearby window, making it all the harder for him to take his eyes off her. As if he wanted to anyway.

Christine stood right before him now, just a foot or so away. She stuck out her hand with a lopsided grin. But Erik, who was holding his own suitcases, plus a violin that the ship's band had presented them with at the last dinner, could only shrug a shoulder at it.

Seeing this, she put her hand back to her side, staring at his middle, trying to avoid his glowing eyes. But then, as the thought that she would never see him again came back to her, her suitcases went crashing to the ground as she threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek in to his chest, allowing her pent up tears to flow. "I'll miss you so much!" She whispered, her throat restricting.

"And I you." Were his only words. He didn't drop his things, didn't attempt to reciprocate her actions, knowing that it would only make it harder for the both of them if his arms were holding her as well.

Finally she released him, wiping away her tears with a pathetic attempt at an embarrassed giggle, then picked up her suitcases again.

"I have to go." She said in all her sorrow, her chin quivering.

"You have to go." He said, holding her with his gaze in return.

Licking her dry lips, she nodded, then slowly turned away from him and started to walk away, when she went to turn.

"No." Came Erik's deadpan voice in her ears, making her freeze. "Don't look back. Keep going."

Taking a deep breath, she obeyed him like a dutiful student and kept walking. As if in a daze, she felt her feet leading her down the hallways, on to the deck, down the dock, and on to the street. Even though she was distracted, she knew where she was. Not too far from her old home at the opera, and in turn, not far from the de Changy estate. She waved down a cab and climbed in quickly, grateful for the scarf that covered her head and hair, in case Erik was right and there were guards surrounding. She could only imagine the disgrace of being caught by guards and dragged to Raoul's porch step.

The horses lurched, and she was on her way back to her old life, but even after she was out of sight of the ship, she could still feel a hard gaze of glowing eyes upon her.

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	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Thanks SOOO much for everyone's reviews! They're greatly appreciated and pushed me through this next chapter. It's midnight, and I've just finished writing the last part, so if there's any errors, so sorry! Getting sleepy here...can't get myself to care for editing!**

A long lasting month passed since Christine had arrived back 'home'. Raoul had been overjoyed, insisting they marry sooner, though she kept the date in place. Another month of being engaged wouldn't hurt them any.

Yet since she returned, she knew that not everything had gone back to the way they were. Not only did the Opera House, now fully functioning again, felt terribly empty and lacking, but so did something in her heart - no matter how much she did her best to bury the thought and rememberance.

Whenever she'd see Meg, they'd arrange a meeting away from her mother - Madame Giry was one person that Christine could no longer stand to be around. No, not with though piercing eyes that spoke volumes with just a glimpse. _She knew_. There was no mistaking it - every time she looked at Christine, a shiver would run down the young girl's spine.

But it didn't matter, Christine insisted. Raoul loved her even more than before. That's all she needed, wasn't it? Being loved?

Yet every time she'd catch a glimpse of a dark skinned Persian man on the streets, the one from the opera known as Nadir, her heart would break a little more - her hard shell around it start to crumble. And then the doubt would start to leak it - the wonderings of how she could dare mislead a man so much in love - mislead him in to a marriage while she kept such a secret. She'd do it because she had little choice, because when she tried to pretend that everything was okay while she was being held in her fiance's arms, it would ward away the thoughts that frightened her in the quiet hours at night. The thoughts that whispered to her where her heart really lays. How a man in a mask had come like a thief in the night, oh, many years ago and stolen what she desperately needed back. How could she marry a man when another had kept her heart?

Christine held her knees tightly to her chest with one of her cold arms as she gently held a white lace curtain back from the window, looking across a large lake, reflecting the sunset upon it's calm waters. It held no serenity in it's beauty - only the cold reminder that those nagging thoughts weren't far off again.

XxxxxxX

Christine knocked eagerly upon the de Changy door, not liking being in town today. For a reason that she knew not, everyone stared at her as she passed. Not since Don Juan had she received so many looks.

But when the door opened and the butler had a simuliar face, a shiver ran through her entire body. "Is Raoul here?"

"Indeed, he is mademoiselle." His voice was stiff, almost cold. Never had he acted like such to her.

"This way. He hasn't left his spot or eaten a morsel all day." The bulter informed.

"Why would that be?"

"Uh...well I believe he'd like to tell you about it himself."

Christine knew where they were headed, so she rushed ahead to the sitting room herself. Why, Raoul looked just fine! He sat in the corner in his favorite chair by the bright window, reading the newspaper. She couldn't see his expression, for part of the newspaper concealed part of his face, but she was sure he looked perfectly fine. That butler had made her worry for nothing!

"Good afternoon, Raoul. I thoguht we could have some tea together today." She said in her sweetest of voices.

The newspaper lowered, and Raoul met her gaze. Soon his eyes gleamed and he smiled.

"Tea? Yes, I believe tea would be wonderful right now."

Overjoyed to see that he really was in a good mood, she hurried over, taking his hands and lifting him from his chair.

"Could we have tea on the back porch today? It's truly a lovely day out. Have you been out today, Raoul?"

He shook his head, seeming lost for a moment. "Out? No, not today. I've been quite preoccupied."

"Oh...then the porch?"

"No...I think inside would suit us better this afternoon."

"Oh...well that's fine too. Will you call it?"

"Of course. Why don't you go take a seat?" He suggested, folding up his paper and putting it under his arm as he went to call in the tea.

Christine went to the parlor, biting her lip in nervousness. He was acting like usual, but there was something terribly off here. What was going on? The thought that she should have stayed in bed today was expanding quickly.

Raoul soon came and sat opposite of her. He laid the paper, still folded, before him on the table, playing with the edges in his quiet.

He didn't talk to her, didn't look - just awaited the tea.

Once served, he took a sip, then pushed the cup away.

"Don't you like it?" Christine questioned. He stood up, shut the doors, then sat again, staring at her, as if upset, gathering the courage to tell her something that she had a feeling she didn't want to hear.

"I could go fetch Marie to make a different kind, perhaps?" She said in hopefulness.

"When were you going to tell me, Christine?" His voice was soft, but it had an undertone of sternness.

"Raoul? I don't...I don't understand?" She said in great confusion, tilting her head as if trying to find the answer in his eyes from a different angle.

"Why didn't you tell me you were with that monster when you were away? Why didn't you admit it to me?" His voice was getting harsher quickly, his eyes growing moist.

"Monster? Wha...I still don't get it."

He opened the newspaper and held it up for her to see.

SENSATION HIT MISS AMINTA GIRY REVEALED TO REALLY BE FUTURE VICOMTESS OF PARIS, CHRISTINE DAAE

MISS DAAE HAS BEEN A SINGER AT THE LOCAL NEW YORK THEATER FOR THE PAST NINE MONTHS, TRAINING TO STAR IN THE FRENCH OPERA, HANNIBAL, WITH MASKED MUSICAL GENIUS, ERIK DESTLER, WHOM SIGNED ON TO THE THEATER SIX MONTHS AGO, WORKING AS A MAESTRO AND SINGING TRAINER.

"Masked Genius, Christine? Just so happens to be named Erik? The name Madame Giry has mentioned to be the name of the Phantom while you were gone?"

Christine stared back, her brown eyes wide in shock, her mouth slightly ajar. Her words started to stream down her cheeks in the form of tears, not sure how to handle this. Another look at the paper, she saw it was American - someone must have wanted Raoul to find out. She should have anticipated the talent of his spies.

"At least defend yourself - nothing you can say could make me feel more horrid - I've had all morning to think only the worse."

She shook her head, curls sticking to her wet face. "No Raoul, no, it wasn't like that! I left because...of what I told you. He came a few months later - I had no idea! He was horribly strict and cold..." Christine faltered here, debating on whether she should leave it at that and not going further in the details on how Erik had very much so warmed up to her again. She decided against this. "Nothing happened, I swear it. Raoul, I haven't dishonored you in any way. I've done nothing of which your imagination has undoubtedly thought up. I promise you, Raoul...nothing of the sort happened." Her tears had increased as she talked, making her look much younger and with her curls disarray.

Raoul came around the table, pulling a chair next to her and wiping away her tears, kissing her cheeks. "Christine...my dear little Christine...I love you more than I thought was possible. And I trust you with my heart. I'll love you forever if you will only let me. Tell me you will. Tell me I can believe all you say...and I shall."

Her tears came harder, sobs caught in her throat as she saw what she had reduced him to. She nodded as she watched a tear of his own fall down his cheek. Not being able to stand to see him cry on her account, she kissed it away, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Yet while he returned her embrace, why did her heart keep sinking lower and lower? While his heart soared, why did hers still continue to break?

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	31. Author's Note

Author's Note:

Hello Everyone!

Those of you who have me on author alert may get this message quite a few times over. For that, I apologize! But I want everyone who should see this to see it.

As I've said before, I don't abandon my stories. When I start them, I have full intention to finish them. But recent events prove that I'll have to take off of writing for at least quite a few months. I hate to do that, because I know it's unfair to all my readers, but I really have no choice.

Therefore, I decided to offer up my stories to my readers. Any writer who likes my stories and wants to take a swing at them to finish them up, here's your chance. I'm sure if you're a reader, you have your ideas of what you'd like to see happen in the story. For those stories that I still have all the plans for ( I lost my notebook full of story plans a while back) , if you'd like, I'll send them to you and offer up any help I can.

If you'd like to make one of my Phantom stories as one of your own, send me a PM with which story you'd like to take over. First come, first serve for all.

Lastly, I'd just like to really say I'm sorry I couldn't finish all of these myself. Here's hoping that someone(s) out there will be willing to take my place!

-G.A.


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